Something More Important
by T. Fowler
Summary: Steve Rogers is determined to join the Army and go off to war. Bucky is concerned what will happen if she's discovered. rule!63 Steve.
1. Chapter 1

Bucky shouldn't have been surprised. He's been expecting something like this for months. But, still, when he sees the paper on the table, with Steve's name on it and a big 4F stamp, a shock cuts through him. And it hurts. It hurts in his jaw where he clenches it, in his shoulders, the way they stiffen.

In the thrill of panic that clenches his heart.

He grabs the paper and storms through the apartment, out onto the fire escape.

She's there, like always. She's perched on the iron railing, sketchbook balanced on her knobby little knees, drawing.

Bucky clenches his fist and reminds himself how bad it'd be to punch her while she's up there. "What the hell is this?" he asks, crawling through the window. He waves the paper at her.

Stevie doesn't look up. "My application to the Army. Rejected on the basis of being a sickly little runt too weak for anyone to want."

"I can't believe you."

"You surprised I had more guts than you?"

"Don't," he snaps harshly. He wants to say something stupid, like if it wasn't for her, he would have joined up months ago. But he doesn't. Because he doesn't want to put that on her, doesn't want her to think that he's trying to protect her or coddle her or anything. Just like he doesn't want her to know how much he worries about her when she's perched on the railing or has an asthma attack or gets in a fight with some bully in a back alley.

She doesn't want him to worry, and she'd probably punch him if he did.

So, instead he says, "You applied as a man."

"What did you expect?" She looks up at him, jaw set. She's ready for a fight.

"You could be arrested, Stevie."

"I risk it every day."

"But this is the Army. The military. They ain't like the slags at school or work. They don't like it when they're lied to, especially about little things like if you're a boy or a girl."

She slid off the railing and landed with a thump that made the platform vibrate. "It ain't lying if the rules ain't fair in the first place!"

He crumples the application in his fist. "They're not going to see it that way, Steve! They aren't gonna care about anything except that you don't have the right equipment down there! That's all that matters! You go in lying to them about what you are, and they're gonna lock you away! And they'll do stuff to you! Make you grow your hair and put on a dress and act like a dame!"

"Like the military doesn't have more important things to worry about," Stevie scoffs. She pushes past him and climbs through the window back into the apartment.

Bucky follows her, wondering if he could strangle her with one hand. "You know what they do to queers."

"I'm not a queer." She puts her sketchpad on the table. Turned. "And what does this matter? I got turned down. They said no, they don't want me. So it's over."

He narrows his eyes. "That's it?"

"What else can I do?" She says it with a straight face, but her eyes cut over Bucky's shoulder, and she's still got that stubborn look on her face.

"You've already lied once. What's to stop you from doing it again?"

She doesn't say anything, just keeps glaring.

He sighs. "Why can't you just apply for the women's corps? They might take you. Maybe the health requirements aren't as demanding."

"Women aren't allowed to fight."

"So you don't fight. You trying to say what they do isn't as important? Cause I bet they don't feel the same way."

Stevie just shakes her head. "I'm not saying that it's not important. But I need to be on the front lines, Bucky. I need to be in the 107th, like my dad. I belong there. Mom raised me like this for a reason."

"Your mom let you run around like a boy because she hoped you might get stronger that way, not so you could go get shot in Europe!"

"It's fate! She might have thought she was doing it to help me get out of the hospital and into the world, but this is why! This is what I was meant to do!"

"You sound like damn delusional little girl, Steve!" Bucky shouts.

Her face goes white. Without a word, she storms past him, shoulder knocking into his. She stumbles at the impact, but catches herself. Runs out of the main room into their tiny closet of a bedroom and slams the door shut.

Bucky swears. He shoves the crumpled application into his coat pocket and leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Goddamn Stevie and her fucking aspirations. Why couldn't she just be happy with who she was? Yeah, she was skinny and sickly and always getting pounded on by bullies, but she was also brilliant and talented and the best friend Bucky had ever had. The bravest and most loyal, too.

He'd been dreading this day for months. Ever since the war in Europe had started escalating, he knew what was going to happen. Even before Stevie started talking about it, Bucky knew. Because she was his best friend, his oldest friend, and he knew her better than he knew anyone else.

Even if he hadn't always known.

They'd met when they were fifteen. Bucky had been living at the Saint Vincent's Home for Boys for two years. Steve's mother had died a few months before and, having no relatives, he'd been accepted into the school.

Steve was always an odd duck. He looked like he was five years younger than the other boys his age, was skinny and sickly. He always had his nose in his sketchpad and earned the animosity of the other boys by being ten times smarter than anyone. On his first day, he managed to get on the wrong side of Joe Jacobs, who took advantage of the athletic programs the home had to offer while completely missing out on the educational aspects.

Bucky stood with the other boys, watching for almost ten minutes while Steve took a beating from Joe. Steve never once cried out and never once stopped fighting back. He never landed a punch or a kick, but he fought with more heart than Bucky had ever seen.

It'd been when Bucky had heard the wheezes coming from that painfully thin chest that he stepped in. He just stepped right up, grabbed Joe, and socked him in the face. The bully went down, and Steve and Bucky were friends for life.

Sometimes, Bucky wonders what his life woulda turned out to be like if he'd just let Steve get pounded. If he'd never stepped in. Things would have turned out differently. Easier.

Not better.

He doesn't regret it, even now when he's so angry, he can't breathe. The anger just sits in his chest, all twisted up and tight, choking him.

He pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pockets. Shakes one out and lights up.

They'd been best friends for two months before Bucky had found out. At fifteen, he was almost aging out of the system, and no way he was headed for college, not like Steve was. So, Bucky had a job, part-time, that kept him out late.

Okay, so the job wasn't what kept him out late. Dancing with the girls was really what kept him out past lights out, but a guy needed to unwind after a long day, didn't he?

He signed himself in and headed up to the showers. Most everyone was in bed, but he could hear a shower running.

Somehow, Bucky wasn't surprised when he saw the too-skinny form of his friend under the shower. Steve's back was to the door, his blond hair dark gold and plastered to his head.

But he was still wearing his underwear. Not a top, just his shorts, which were sopping wet and hanging heavily off his slim hips.

Bucky bit back a chuckle and quickly stripped. As quietly as he could, he crept across the slick tile floor. Held his breath until he was directly behind Steve and reached out.

Steve screeched as his shorts were yanked down. He spun, arm shooting out. But he slipped backwards, arms pinwheeling, legs slipping out from beneath him. He landed on his bottom with a big splash and loud thump.

Bucky doubled over laughing. "You should have seen yourself! God, Steve, you…." His voice trailed off as his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing.

Steve grabbed at his… her… his… her shorts, one hand belatedly shooting down to cover up what wasn't there. And what was. She yanked her underwear back up over her hips. She blushed furiously, her skin was red from her hairline down her neck to her skinny chest.

"Steve…"

She got to her feet. Pushed past Bucky.

He let her go, too shocked to do anything else. He just stood there, trying to process what he had just seen. Because it couldn't be… it was impossible…

It was the same face he'd seen every day for the past two months. Same neck. Even the same chest, 'cause Steve had never been shy about stripping off her shirt to change at the end of the day. And it wasn't like she had boobs or nothing. She looked like a boy.

Except she didn't have a penis.

"Please tell me you had a terrible accident as a kid. Or you're not even the tiniest bit proportional," Bucky said, turning around.

She'd pulled on her pants over her wet underwear. Her shirt was halfway buttoned, and all he could do was stare at her chest. 'Cause, now that he was looking, he saw what he missed before. Had written off before. How, just around her nipples, it was kinda soft. How there was just the tiniest bit of extra skin where, maybe, if she wasn't so skinny, if she wasn't so sick all the time, maybe it would almost look like breasts.

She finished buttoning her shirt. Yanked her suspenders over her shoulders. "What are you going to do about it?"

"What am I gonna do about it? Steve… this is a boys' home! You're a... a…"

"I'm not!"

"What? What I just see then?"

"I don't…." She rubbed her hands over her face and let out a loud growl. "I…"

He came to a decision. It was abrupt, but really, very clear. "We gotta get out of here. Right now. Come on." Decision made, Bucky went to her. Grabbed her by her wrist and started to drag her from the shower.

"Bucky! Bucky, stop!" She pulled at him with all her weight, feet digging into the floor, trying to pull him back.

"No, this is what we gotta do."

"You're naked!"

He stopped. Looked down at himself.

"Oh. Okay. Clothes first."

He'd dressed. They'd left the home and started walking. Just wandered around the streets of Brooklyn, rambling passed closed up shops and empty lots. Not even watching where they were going, too intent on each other.

He was aware of her like he'd never been aware of anyone. Of the way she breathed, of the little wheezes when they went too fast. The way her hands were a little too big for her body, and how they clenched and loosened over and over, like she didn't know what to do with them.

Bucky finally stopped. Pushed her into an alley, against the wall. "Talk."

She looked up at him, and he wondered if her eyes had always been that blue. That big. It was like she was this alien instead of the kid who'd been stuck to his side for two months. But then her jaw set in a familiar way and something in Bucky relaxed, knowing it was still Steve.

"What do you want to know?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Steve Rogers."

"You were born that?"

She hesitated. Shook her head. "Stephanie. But I was named after my dad. I've always been called Stevie, even before."

"Before what? Why are you pretending to be a guy?"

"I'm not pretending. I'm not… I'm not anything. I just…" She licked her bottom lip. "I was sick a lot when I was a kid."

"You're sick a lot now."

"Yeah, but sicker. Like, always in the hospital, sicker. The doctors didn't think I'd make it. They thought I was too frail to even get out of bed. They wanted me to stay there my whole life. But my mom, she thought maybe that was the trouble. That all that rest was keeping me from getting stronger. She thought, well. Maybe if I got to run around and play rough like the boys, I'd be healthier. You know, outside, in the sun."

"You're allergic to outside."

"Yeah, but I was allergic to inside. She thought it might help. My dad had just died. We were on our own and had to move. So, she cut my hair and dressed me like a boy. When we moved to our new place, she told everyone I was her son. She'd send me outside to play with the other boys. And it worked. I mean, I still sick, but I was out, playing. Having fun. I wasn't dying any more. It just sort of stuck."

"You've been pretending your whole life?"

She shrugged. "I don't think there's actually a lot difference between dames and fellas. I've never felt wrong being a boy. I never felt like I was pretending."

He turned that over in his mind. It didn't make sense. Dames were… soft and fragile and smelled nice. They did their hair and put on lipstick and, well, weren't dirty and perverted like Bucky was.

Blood drained from his face as he thought about some of the stuff he'd said in front of Steve before. Things about dames and what he'd like to do to them. And, oh God, he'd had that magazine that he'd showed Steve and…

"What's wrong?" Steve asked.

"You're a _girl_, that's what's wrong. And I… I said things to you." And then his head spun. "You saw me naked."

Steve's cheeks colored. She looked away from him, shoving her hands into her pockets. "It's no big deal. It ain't nothing I haven't seen before."

"What?"

"Come on, Bucky. I'm fifteen years old. I've been around guys my whole life. Things are gonna get seen. It's not something to get all worked up about."

"But you're a girl!"

"I'm the same person I was yesterday! I was a girl yesterday, and I've seen people naked. Guys naked. It happens. It's not like I was… I don't know. It's not a big deal."

"You were wearing shorts."

Her blush deepened. "I'm used to what fellas look like, but you're not used to me. I'm not stupid. I know I'm not a guy. But I can't suddenly switch to living like a dame. It's not who I am."

"Who are you?"

"Steve Rogers." She shrugged. "I'm not a dame. I'm not a man. I'm just… I'm me. And I'm not going to change." She bit her lip and ducked her head. "You gonna turn me in?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Steve Rogers was clearly a woman. She didn't have anything between her legs (well, she clearly had something, but Bucky was not going to think about it).

But. He couldn't imagine her in a dress. Or wearing lipstick or heels. He couldn't imagine her as being anything than what he was: a short, skinny little scarecrow wearing clothes that didn't quite fit, being smarter than everyone around her, and picking fights with guys four times her size.

Bucky looked at her. She was staring up at him, eyes big and hopeful. Like she trusted him to do the right thing. Like the right thing was easy and clear.

Maybe it was to her. Doing the right thing seemed to come naturally.

She was going to get creamed by the world. Wide-eyed idealists always did, man or woman. They needed someone to take care of them.

"No. I'm not going to tell. Who would I?"

"The people in charge."

"Well, you ain't going back there. That's a boys' home."

"Gee, Buck I'd have never pinned you as such a stickler," Steve said flatly, voice dry.

Bucky shook his head. "Look, you be used to living like a boy, but sooner or later, someone else is going to notice. They're going to walk in on you in the shower or something. They'll find out. And they ain't gonna react so well."

"You call that reacting well?"

"I'm not running to the authorities, am I?"

"You're kicking me out of my home."

"Ah, we only had a few months left living there anyway. I've got a job. I'll see if I can go full time and quit school. We'll move out and get our own place."

"Bucky, you can't quit school!"

"I'm not the one with brains here, Steve. You got to stay at school. I'll work. Maybe you'll get something part-time. We'll scrape by."

Steve gaped at him. "This is crazy."

"Sometimes, the only option is the crazy one." He draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her. "Come on, Stevie. Let's say goodbye to Saint Vincent's Home for Boys."

And that's what they did. At first, they barely scrapped by. They lived in one room slums, sharing a bed. They ate scraps. They counted every penny, and Stevie threatened to quit school more times than Bucky could count. But, they made it. Stevie got into college on an arts scholarship, Bucky got better and better jobs, and soon, they were living clear.

And then the war picked up in Europe. And talk started about America going to war. And, then they did.

And now Stevie wants to go off to war and get herself killed.

Bucky takes one last, vicious drag of cigarette and drops it to the ground.

He doesn't know why he's so upset. He knew this was coming. And it wasn't like everyone they know isn't running off to join up. Everyone was going. And Stevie's always admired her father so much. She used to talk about him, about what a hero he was, about how she wanted to be like him.

But it was crazy. She could pass as a man, did pass as a man. But the military was different. If she joined up, someone was going to notice eventually. Boot camp alone would be impossible to get through without people asking questions. Like, why didn't Steve take off his shorts to shower? And what happened to his dick?

She hadn't thought it through. Bucky was sure of that. All she saw was a chance to prove herself to the memory of a father she'd barely known.

The apartment is dark when he gets back. He almost hops that means he could avoid the inevitable confrontation, but he's hardly closed the door behind him before Stevie is standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

He lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping.

"Done throwing your fit?" Stevie asks.

"I'm just trying to make you see reason. People have limitations and you should accept yours."

"What I have or don't have between my legs shouldn't be a limitation."

Bucky rubs his eyes. "If it was just that, I wouldn't say anything. But you're not healthy. You weigh like two pounds, and, yet, somehow your arms can't support your weight enough to do a pushup. What's going to happen to you in the trenches? You'll waste away, if some lung disease doesn't take you out first. You're not be rational."

"It's something I gotta do. I guess I don't expect you to understand, but, Bucky. This isn't a choice for me. It just… it is."

He gets it. He does, really. Not the war part. He knows he's going to join up eventually if the war keeps escalating. Doesn't know if he'll be drafted or volunteer or what, but he can read the writing on the wall.

But he gets the part about it not being a choice. Just like when he'd found out about Steve. Deciding to stick with her, that hadn't been a choice. It just was.

"You really going to try again? Lying on your application is illegal."

She cracks a grin. "Well, in for a penny, right?"

Bucky shakes his head. He pushes past her into the bedroom, clapping her on the shoulder as he goes. "You sure you've thought this through?"

"Well, they didn't reject me for being a girl, just 'cause of my health. I can figure something…"

"Not applying. What you'll do after that?" He hangs up his jacket and loosens his tie, sitting on the bed. "How are you going get through training and, I don't know, war without anyone noticing?"

Comprehension dawns on Stevie's face. She nods and goes to the bureau they share. Opening her drawer, she digs through before pulling something out.

Bucky shoots off the bed, eyes wide. "Whoa, Steve. Where the hell did you get that?"

_That_ is a four inch phallus _thing_. Steve holds it without any trace of embarrassment in her face, but it was almost more than Bucky could take, seeing her hold a fake penis in her small hand.

"I made it. I figure I strap it around under my shorts. It's hollow and has a tube in it, so I can go through it. I'll figure out the rest when I get there." She holds it out. "Want to feel it? It feels real."

"How do you know?" Bucky practically shouts. It ain't like she's ever touched him; Stevie likes dames and would never give a shmuck like him the time of day (not that he'll ever try, because she deserves better), but if she's touching some other guy's dick…"

Stevie laughs. She puts the fake penis away, laughing so hard her shoulders shake. "God, Buck, your face! Your eyes looked like they were going to pop from your face." She falls onto the bed, arms wrapped around her stomach, laughing.

He shakes his head. His heart is still beating kinda funny from imagining her with another guy (not that he wants to see her with a dame, but dames were strange creatures and none of them had fallen for her yet, so…). Reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, he sinks down onto the bed. "Christ, Steve. You really are the limit." He lights up and lays back on the pillows.

She lays next to him. "You don't have to worry so much, you know," she says. "I can take care of myself."

He blows out a smoke ring. Doesn't answer.

Stevie sighs. "I don't want you to go off and win the war without me."

"I'm not going. Not if I don't have to."

"Yeah, you are. You may not know it yet, Bucky, you are. Sooner or later. If you're not drafted, then you'll volunteer, and it'll just be me."

"I thought you said you don't need me around."

She scoots closer to him on the bed. "I said you don't need to worry about me. Not that I don't want you around." She pokes him in the side. "You're not all that bad company."

"Wish I could say the same," he says, poking her back. "Wanna go catch a film tomorrow night?"

"I thought you were seeing that dame. Daisy?"

Oh, right. Her. "Ah, she's a nice dame and all. I'll probably see her again." Not entirely a lie. "She's got a friend."

Stevie snorts. "I'm tired of it all. No dames ever want me. Especially not once they see you. And worrying about the whole, you know, telling them and being honest…"

"You don't need to tell a girl everything just to dance with them."

"Just doesn't feel right. Dancing with anyone if they don't know what they're getting. And it's not important. Not right now."

_I__ know __what __I__'__m__ getting,_ Bucky's tempted to say. _I __know __exactly __what__ I__'__m__ getting, __from__ head __to __tail._

But, like always, he keeps quiet. Because Stevie's his best friend and he doesn't want to lose her just because he's in love with her.

Some things are more important than that.

#


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry kid," the army doctor says. "But we can't take you." He stamps Steve's papers before Steve even has a chance to protest.

She stands there, looking at the paper, mouth hanging open. "I… But…"

He shoves the paper at her, then looks to the next person. "Next?"

And that's it. Just like that, Steve's out again. She can't believe it. She'd been so sure that this time, they'd let her in. They'd overlook the asthma and high blood pressure and heart things and just take her. Because, dammit, they need men over there, and she's here, willing and able.

She sighs and heads out of the recruiting office.

No way is she telling Bucky about this. He threw a big enough fit last time, no telling what he'll do this time. So, she was lying to the United States government? It's not like she doesn't have a good reason. People are dying, and she can help.

If they just would give her a chance.

A horrible cry splits the air. A pained, high pitch yelp of a dog in pain.

She takes off in the direction of the sound: an alley across the street.

There's three of them, big boys. Younger than Steve, but bigger, with big strong hands and muscles under their shirts. They're gathered around a small dog that's got a leg trapped under a bunch of boxes. The boys are laughing, taunting it. They even land a few kicks to its exposed stomach.

"All right, that's enough!" Steve shouts, approaching them.

The boys turn, startled.

She pushes past them to the dog. Couches in front of it. The poor thing is shaking and growling. When Steve reaches for it, it snaps at him in warning, then barks wildly.

One of the boys throws something at it. "Stupid dog." She can smell the alcohol on his breath, and pieces start coming together. Three kids, break into Dad's stash and go out and do something stupid.

"I said cut it out!" She stands and faces them, fists clenched at her sides. "What the heck is wrong with you? You're beating up a defenseless animal."

"And who are you? The animal police?" The largest of the three takes a step forward, looming over her.

"I'm a decent human being. And you are?"

She ducks the first punch, but there are three of them, and she doesn't see the second. The next few minutes are a blur of fists, white-hot pain, and wild barking. She's pretty sure she's not the one barking, though.

They finally get tired. With a last kick in the stomach from all three, they wander off, laughing at the damage they've done.

Steve pushes herself to a sitting position. There's blood in her mouth, which she spits out. Checking the damage, she discovers she's got probably got two black eyes, a bruised stomach, and a bit-up tongue. All her teeth are there, though, and her nose isn't broken, so that's something.

The dog is still there. She crawls over to it, slowly. It growls at her, but doesn't try to bite. When she frees its leg, it jumps off and runs down the alley.

"You're welcome," she says dryly.

It stops. Barks at her a few times, then comes back over. It puts its paws on her lap and rises up to sniff her face.

She stays still, waits.

After a few more sniffs, it pushes itself away again. Runs a few steps, then back again. This time, it licks her.

She laughs. Pets it on the head. "Gee, you stink." The dog smells like garbage and oil. Its hair is matted and tangled and there's mud caked on its paws. Mud that's now all over Steve's clothes.

"Come on." She groans as she uses some nearby trashcans to pull herself up. Her side's beginning to ache really bad. She hopes that it's just a bruise and not a broken rib or something.

The dog follows her as she limps out of the alley. It dances around her feet, barking and loping happily, tongue hanging out in a wet, doggy smile.

Watching it distracts her from the pain of her injuries. She's always wanted a dog, but it'd never been feasible. She and her mom never had the money; same with her and Bucky. Not that she hadn't tried when she was a kid. Seemed like she was always finding strays and taking them home. Mom had always done the same thing: fed the dog, bathed it, then found someone who'd take care of it.

It takes forever to get home. Her head aches and her eyes are burning. And swollen. Her tongue has stopped bleeding, but the ache in her side is making it hard to breathe.

The dog follows her up the stairs and into the apartment. Bucky isn't home yet, which is good. This way she'll have time to take care of the worst of her hurts and maybe clean up the dog a little.

She climbs into the bath first, scrubbing away blood and dirt from her skin. The dog sits on the floor, tail thumping against the tile, eyes bright and avid.

"Hope you don't mind," she says, scrubbing behind her ears. "I mean that you were rescued by a weakling like me instead of a big, strapping man. God, it's so stupid! I'm as able to fight as the next person. But they only want big guys. Stupid Army." She ducks underneath the water. When she comes back up, the dog is standing on its hind legs, paws on the edge of the tub.

It licks her face when she resurfaces.

She laughs. Rubs its head. "Okay, maybe you don't care. I don't think anyone over in Europe would care, either, but what does the Army know?"

It licks her again.

"Stevie?" Bucky calls as the front door opens. "You home?"

The dog goes wild. It starts barking and running around in circles. After making about ten, it beelines out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and out of sight.

"What the heck is this? Steve, why is a dog jumping all over me?"

She climbs out of the bath and dresses rapidly. When she gets into the front room, she finds Bucky on the couch, pinned by the dog, who's growling in his face.

"Dog! Down!"

The dog obeys, jumping off Bucky and running to sit at Steve's side.

Bucky sits up, question on his lips, but it dies when he sees Steve. "What happened to you?"

"I got into a fight?" She didn't mean for it to come out like a question.

"Why?"

"They were hurting the dog! What was I supposed to do?"

"They?" He stands, fists clenching.

Steve sighs. She hadn't meant to tell him that part. "Yeah. Look, it's no big deal."

"How many were there?"

"The point is, I saved the dog and it's fine."

"Yeah, but are you fine?" He comes up and opens her shirt. Winces. "Stevie."

"I'm fine. It hardly hurts."

"Are your ribs broken?"

She shakes her head. "Just bruised. It looks worse than it is."

"You put any ice or anything on it?"

"We're outta ice. And the liniment. I used the last of it a few weeks ago."

Bucky nods. Rubs his eyes. "Okay, I'll run down to the drugstore and get some ice and liniment. And see if anyone wants a mangy mutt."

"We can't keep him?" Steve gives Bucky her best wounded lamb look.

"No. Now, go lie down."

"I'm hurt, not sick." But, he has a point. She goes to the bedroom and stretches out.

By the time Bucky gets back, she's dead to the world. Stretched out on the bed with that pathetic excuse for a dog cuddled up beside her.

Bucky wakes her by gently placing the ice on her right eye, which is ten times more swollen than the left.

"Bucky?" she mumbles, opening her left eye.

"How you feeling?"

"Like I got the crap beatin' out of me." She takes the ice. Rolls on her back. "Did you find anyone to take the dog?"

"Yeah. Woman down the street's been looking for a dog for her kid. Husband went off to war and…" He breaks off.

Steve sighs.

The dog rolls over. Kicks its legs out, scratching Bucky's legs.

"Hey, dog. Off the bed!" He pushes it awake.

The dog glares at him, but jumps off the bed and pads out to the living room.

"So. What's this really about?" Bucky asks, lying down. "I mean, why'd you get in the fight?"

"Those kids were torturing the dog. I had to help it."

Bucky doesn't answer, just keeps looking at Steve.

"You know bullies don't need any excuse to rough me up. They just jump at the chance."

He raises his eyebrow.

Steve sighs. "I got turned down again. Another 4F for being too weak and too sick. Jerks."

"Stevie…"

"Just save it, okay? I don't want hear it today."

Bucky nods. Sits up and grabs the bag with the liniment. "Take off your shirt and let Dr. Barnes work his magic." He waits while Steve struggles out of her shirt, then lies back down.

She hisses at the first touch of cold, sticky fluid, but relaxes as he rubs it in. This is a routine with them, has been since they left the home. Whenever Steve gets sick or get beat up, and Bucky takes care of her after. He doesn't take advantage of it, doesn't let it get strange. Stevie's never suspected that Bucky wouldn't mind feeling her skin under his hand more often, under better circumstances. That he'd like to be the one to put bruises on her skin, only with his mouth instead of his fists.

He feels like a creep, but he's only human, right? And it's not like he'd never do anything. He doesn't even look past her stomach if he can help it, only to check to see if he can feel any cracks or whatever in her ribs. It's only when he thinks there might be worse damage that he makes her see a doctor, and those visits are always heavy on the tension. What if she's found what, what would they do to her? Bucky gets through his day pushing that though aside, but when she's sick or hurt…

He lets his hand drag down her side, down the hardly there dip of her waist, to the barely noticeable swell of her hip. Over her sunken in belly, and, God, he really needs to make sure she eats more.

Sometimes he wonders what Stevie would do if she were shaped more like a woman. If she's still tried to pass herself as a man or not. Other dames managed to do it, he knew. Then again, some dame managed to act more like most men he knew while wearing skirts and having long hair.

He wonders, sometimes, if he'd still want Stevie as bad if she had breasts and hips and all that. What is says about him that he likes her flat chest and everything.

But then, he doesn't care. It's not about the body. It's about Steve.

"Better?" Bucky asks, putting the cap back on the liniment. He gets off the bed. Goes to his jacket, digging around for his cigarette.

"Yeah, thanks." She sits up and starts buttoning her shirt again. "When are they taking the dog?"

"Tomorrow. I figure we should wash it and feed it a little. They can wait a day. Feel like swinging by the butcher's shop later? Dog would probably appreciate the scraps."

Stevie grins. "Yeah. Sounds good."

Bucky lights up the cigarette and points it at Steve. "Damn thing is not sleeping in the bed. It can sleep on the floor like a normal dog."

"Right, Bucky. Whatever you say."

Damn thing sleeps on the bed that night. Steve is a softie. So is Bucky.


	3. Chapter 3

He's not exactly sure how it happens. At least, that's what he'll claim until the very end. Right up until Stevie chokes the life out of him, Bucky will continue to claim that he has no idea how he went from going for a drink with the guys after work to signing up for the Army.

Which is a huge lie, of course. He and the guys went out for a drink. There was a recruiter who bought them a round. Got them all riled up and pumped and led them down the street to the recruiting office.

It's like a party, all of them talking about how they're gonna go over and win the war and how the dames will throw themselves at them. How they're going to be heroes. And Bucky joins in, because he's a jerk, all the while feeling like he's doing something wrong. That the ax is about the fall and something very bad is gonna happen.

And then, he's being handed his papers and told to report back in two days. He looks down at those orders, and his stomach drops out.

"Let's go out and celebrate our last nights of freedom," one of his buddies says, slinging his arm around Bucky's neck.

He shakes him off. "Naw, you go on. I gotta go… face reality."

"What, you got a dame waiting at home?" They all laugh

He forces a smile. "I'll see you in a couple days." He waves his orders vaguely, then turns. Walks off.

What is he going to do? There's no way he can just skip out. Go AWOL or whatever the official term is. He signed up, put his name on the dotted line, and now he's going to war.

But how's he supposed to leave Stevie?

Maybe it'll be better if he just never goes home. Just drops out of her life, and then sends a letter once he's safely overseas.

Maybe he should have told the recruiter he was a gutless coward and saved everyone the trouble.

He goes to a bar. Not like the one he and the boys had been at. A seedy one, where he can sit in the corner for hours, drinking. Liquid courage, except he doesn't feel very courageous. Just dizzy.

It'll be fine, he tries to convince himself. Steve will understand. After all, she's the one who's always talking about joining up. She gets being called to duty and honor and all that stuff. She'll understand.

With that thought in his head, Bucky pays his tab and stumbles back home.

He has to take a steadying breath at the front door. His head spins and stomach twists. He can't do this.

"She's probably asleep," he tells himself. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. "It's late. There's no reason to panic. I won't have to say anything until…"

He hears movement inside. A deep, phlegmy cough.

Wonderful.

He opens the door and steps inside.

Stevie is in the kitchen, standing at the stove, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looks over and gives Bucky a wan smile when he comes in. Her face is pale and sweaty, her nose red and crusty. She's shivering.

"When did this happen?" Bucky asks. He stumbles a few steps before he gets his feet under him.

She coughs, turning her face away from him. "Um. It's been coming on." She coughs again, deep and painful.

"Go sit down. I'll make your tea." He pushes her aside and starts rummaging around in the cabinet. "You hungry?"

"No. I ate. Why do you smell like a distillery?"

"Went drinking. With the guys from work."

She nods. Bypasses the living room and returns to the bedroom. She's still coughing and hacking. Struggling for breath, and, God, he hopes they still have some of the medicine from the last time she was sick.

He finishes the tea and takes it into the bedroom. Stevie's propped up against the wall, hacking into her handkerchief, looking miserable.

"Here." He hands her the tea, then goes into the bathroom. He washes himself up the best he can. Looks into the mirror.

Red rimmed eyes stare back accusingly. "Yeah," he tells his reflection. "I know." He grabs a washcloth. Wets it. Goes back into the bedroom.

"I'm sorry wasn't here," he says, sitting on the bed. He wipes down her forehead, then drapes the cloth on the back of her neck.

"You didn't know." Her breathing is thick, voice hoarse.

He nods. Licks his lips. He can't meet her eyes. He just looks up at her from under his eyelashes. "I, um. Me and some of the boys joined up."

Her mouth falls open and the tea cup in her hand trembles violently. Bucky wraps his hand around hers to steady it.

"I…" she starts, but then shakes her head. "When do you leave?"

"Day after tomorrow."

She frowns. Her entire face gets into it, every bit of it dropping, falling. Like her heart's broken.

"I'm sorry, Stevie."

She shakes her head. "Don't. I mean, it's important." The words sound flat.

"Steve…"

"Bucky, don't." She looks up at him. Smiles tentatively. "It's fine. I knew you were gonna join up eventually."

"I didn't mean for it to be now."

She shrugs. "I can't believe you. Only you'd join the Army on accident." She drains her tea and sets the cup on the nightstand. "I don't know what you're going to do without me."

"Muddle through somehow. What about you?"

She sniffs. Wipes her nose on her. "I'll be fine, Buck. I mean, look at me. I can take care of myself."

God. Face waxy pale and sweaty, eyes bloodshot, nose crusty and oozing. He can hear her breathing and knows she's going to keep him up all night, coughing and wheezing and kicking him 'cause she's so restless and can't sleep. Normally, on nights like this, Bucky usually gives up and sleeps on the pathetic excuse for a couch they kept in the other room.

Not tonight. Tonight, Bucky will put up with anything just to be near her.

"Yeah," he says, cuffing her on the chin. "You'll be just fine." He picked up the empty tea cup. "How about one more cup? And maybe try to steam some of that crap outta your lungs before we hit the hay."

She nods. "That sounds good." She grabs Bucky's shirt as he starts to get up. Fists it. "Bucky. You'll write me, right?"

A lump forms in his throat. He nods. "Every day."

Stevie smiles. "Good."

#

This is the letter Bucky writes but never sends:

_Dear Stevie,_

_Remember when that summer after we first left the home? And you met Sara Williams and fell head over heels. You couldn't sleep and couldn't eat and all you drew was her face over and over and over again. You were so over the moon about her, and I thought it was the most hilarious thing. You never even said three words to her, you were so shy. And I just sat back and laughed._

_I'm sorry I laughed at you, Stevie. I did it because I was a jerk. Because I didn't know what it felt like, being in love and not being able to be with that person. I didn't know because you were always there, right next to me. And even though I couldn't touch you or tell you, you were still there. It was you and me. I guess I figured it'd be that way forever._

_I wish you were here. I wish I was with you._

_I love you._

_Yours,_

_Bucky_

This is the letter that Bucky sends:

_Boot camp is brutal. We get no sleep, the food sucks, and the drill sergeants are constantly riding our butts. On the other hand, it turns out that I'm pretty good with a rifle._

_Don't get sick._

_Bucky_

#

Stevie doesn't send letters. She tries, but she's not that good with words. So, she draws pictures. A picture a day, sent off to him every week. Pictures of the neighborhood. Their living room on a Sunday afternoon. Sunset from the roof of their building. The front of the cinema. The bridge, their neighbors.

She misses him so much that sometimes it's hard to breathe. Bucky's been her family since her mom died. Her brother, her best friend. Now he's gone and there's a part of her that's missing.

In every line, she tells him how much she misses him. Every shadow asks him to stay safe. Every time she signs her name, she reminds him that she's coming. All he has to do is wait and stay safe. Somehow, some way, she'll get there.


	4. Chapter 4

She says she's from the Bronx this time. Sits in a hard, plastic chair, filling out her application, lying abou who she is and where she's from. She hates lying, she really does, but they keep turning her down and she doesn't see any other way. So, she lies. Gives them an address she's never lived at, then agonizes over the medical history section.

If she lies, if she pretends she isn't as sick as she really is, maybe they'll let her in. And once she's there, they probably won't send her away, right? The news reels kept saying how every man was needed, how everyone needed to do their part. Drawing ads for war bonds and stuff wasn't enough, and there was no way she was going to go out collecting scrap metal. That was kids' work. She was an adult. She belonged overseas, fighting.

And yet, Bucky's voice keeps nagging her. If she says she doesn't have asthma, and then starts wheezing when the doctor's examining was examining her, she might get in trouble. Same if she doesn't put down that she's got high blood pressure; and the heart thing. What if it starts racing?

In the end, she discloses everything. She doesn't know why being caught lying about her health worries her more than lying about trying to sign up before, or being a girl, but it does. Partly because she knows others who've been turned down for service for one reason or another, only to be accepted later. And, partly, because no one has ever figured out what was underneath her shorts before, not counting Bucky. She's always passed so easily, and while she knows it's a possibility (Bucky had made that clear enough) it doesn't seem real.

She finishes filling out the forms and gives them to a nurse behind the desk. The nurse takes them, glanced at the forms, up at Steve, then back down. Then she double takes on Steve. Her eyes widen slightly.

Steve blushes. She can't help it. Any time a pretty dame looks at her, heats creeps over her face. And this girl is really pretty, all golden brown hair and big green eyes.

She ducks her head. "Is something the matter?" Steve asks.

"No. Go have a seat."

She does, watching the nurse from under her eyelashes. The nurse takes the clipboard with the forms on it and walks back to a desk. She stands there a few seconds, reading over the papers. Then she disappears behind a screen.

Steve swallows. Glances around. The room is full of men. Boys. Most of them look younger than she is, some not even twenty. There's a group of them in the corner, all sitting with their heads together, whispering. They look out of place, gangly and not yet grown into their bodies. Too young for war, but determined to go off. Just like her.

Steve doesn't know whether to admire them or worry. She decides on both. They want serve their country. They shouldn't have to. They should get to finish their childhood, not go off and risk being killed. The war was terrible. It made everyone grow up too fast.

"Steve Rogers?"

The nurse stands by a door, holding a clipboard in her hands. Steve frowns. It was the wrong door; that was the door she came in through, not the one leading to the exam rooms. What was going on?

"Yes, ma'am?" Steve says, approaching her.

"Follow me." The nurse turns on her heel and walks through the door. She leads Steve through the short hall and turns a corner. Stands in front of an exit.

"Ma'am, what's going on?"

She turns and holds out Steve's papers. There's a big 4F stamp on it.

"But I didn't…"

"Dr. Parsons discovered a woman posing a man last week," the nurse says briskly. "She was shipped to a sanitarium upstate." The nurse pushes open the door. "I'm not letting that happen to anyone else."

Steve's mouth falls open. "But… what… I'm…"

The nurse arches her eyebrow. Her lips twitch. "You're really good. You might even pass. But by the time the other one was carted off, she had bruises on her face and was limping. I don't…" Her voice trails off. She shrugs. "Just go." She shakes the papers.

"Yeah. Okay." She feels numb, like something's wrong with her face. She takes the papers and starts to push past the nurse. Then she stops. "How did you know?"

She smiles, dimples appearing in her full cheeks. "I'm not attracted to fellas." She kind of bats her eyelashes at Steve.

Steve frowns. She's not entirely sure that her question was answered, but she nods and says, "Oh, okay. Thanks." Then she leaves, escaping out an alley behind the recruitment center.

The walk home is kind of a blur. Her heart is pounding from her near escape, even though she hadn't felt like she was really in danger. But the further she gets from the recruitment center, and the closer she gets to home, the more it sinks in.

She isn't stupid. It's always been there, in the back of her mind, the fact that what she was could get her in trouble. Not just beat up because some tough guy thought she acted like a sissy boy. But seriously in trouble, sent away trouble. Arrested trouble. Although, Steve isn't one hundred percent certain that passing as a man is against the law. She knows it's looked down upon, and if she's ever discovered, she'd get in trouble. Sent to a sanitarium, possibly, re-educated to act "normally". Which is horrible just to think about. And the nurse said the woman they caught was limping when they dragged her out…

She can't sleep that night. Her hands shake and she feels sick. Not in the usual way, but in a deeper, soul sick kind of way. No amount of tea or headache powder or cold compresses help. She just keeps feeling sick and shaky and… and scared.

In the end, Steve spends the night curled on the couch under a quilt her mother had sewed. She draws until the early morning hours, until the sun starts creeping over the horizon and lights the room. And, once the light dawns, she guesses she falls asleep because the next thing she knows, the couch creaks and she feels warm skin brush her hands.

She groans, because she so, so tired and doesn't want to wake up, but her feet are pressing against someone's thigh and her sketchbook is gone. So, she opens her eyes.

"Bucky?"

It can't be him. He never wrote to tell her he was coming home. And she doesn't recognize this man sitting on her couch in an Army uniform. God, he looks so handsome and she hopes she isn't blushing. She knows that Bucky thinks she only likes girls, and mostly he's right, but every once in a while there's a guy who catches her eye and makes her head spin and face flush and stomach tighten. She's never told him, though, because it's easier if he doesn't know. He's always supported her, who she is and who she likes, but telling him that sometimes she wants to kiss him the way he kisses the dames he dates might break something between them. She can't lose him. He's too important.

And, besides, Bucky likes girls, not whatever she is.

Her heart is pounding. "Is it really you?"

He gives her a lazy grin. "Who else would it be?"

"I got maybe two hours sleep last night. I could be hallucinating." She tucks her legs under her and sits up on her knees. "What are you doing here?" She can't resist poking him to make sure he's really there.

He grabs her hand and squeezes it. "Yeah, it's me. You okay? I mean, you're not sick?"

"I'm fine, Bucky. Just had a rough day yesterday."

"I see that. What, you draw all night?" He holds up the sketchbook and her hand.

It's covered with smudges from where she rubbed it over her drawings. Her face is probably all smudged, too. "Pretty much. How long are you back?"

"A couple weeks, maybe. I'm on leave until Wednesday, then I gotta start checking in for my orders. They'll probably send me overseas."

"But you're home."

He nods. Grins. "I am." He holds the sketchbook up. "Who's this doll?"

Steve blushes. She drew the nurse from the recruitment center several times, unable to get her eyes or her hands out of her mind. "Oh, uh. I met her yesterday."

"Where?"

"At a, um. I was trying to get in again. She was a nurse there."

"Still beating that old horse, huh? Really, Stevie…"

"I don't want to hear it, Bucky. Not from someone who joined up on a dare." She takes her sketchbook back. Looks at the picture of the nurse, of the what she looked as she ushered Steve out the door. Her lashes, dark against her bright eyes, her perfect lips and the way they quirked at the corner. Like she's trying to share a secret, but not quite ready to reveal it. "I didn't even get into an examination room this time. I had all my arguments ready, laid out so I could convince the doctor to let me in. But the nurse snuck me out."

"Snuck you out?"

She shrugs. "Surprise. I'm not the only woman in New York trying to join the Army."

Bucky frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the nurse said there was a woman dressed as a man who tried to join and they caught her." She winces. She knows that Bucky's going to blow his top.

"What's that look for?"

"They sent her to a sanitarium."

He jumps off the couch, eyes wild and kind of crazy. "Okay, that's it. You get it now? You get what I've been saying?" he shouts. He paces. "This thing of yours is crazy, Steve. I get that you want to be like you dad, I really do. But it's a dream that you've gotta give up. You're going to wind up like that other one if you keep doing this."

"I won't."

"Why, because you got lucky? How did the nurse know, anyway? You must have done something to let her know. Did you ask?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, but she didn't answer."

"What did she say when you asked?"

"That she wasn't attracted to fellas."

Bucky stops pacing. Looks at her, mouth hanging open.

"What?"

"Did you ask her out?"

"What? Bucky…"

"She was into you, Steve!" Bucky shouts, and he sounds just as loud as he did a minute ago when he was afraid about her being locked up. "She was attracted to you. She wanted you."

"What?"

"How are you this dense? She knew you were a woman and she wanted you! And you, what? Just walked away?"

"I didn't know!"

"She told you!"

"I didn't know women could be queers!"

"You're queer!" Bucky slaps his hands over his eyes. His fingers claw into his hair, shoulders bowed.

Steve pulls the blankets around her tighter. Bucky's said that before, but she never thinks about it. She's spent her whole life as a boy. Liking girls was natural. They were pretty and soft and smelled good. Who wouldn't like them? She felt more queer when she was attracted to another man. Like that was the taboo.

And maybe it was. She knows that some men love other men. And that some men love women. Apparently, sometimes women love women, which makes sense since, from what she can tell, there isn't that much difference between men and women anyway.

But she's never heard of people liking both. And she can't ask Bucky, because then he'd know there was something really wrong with her. She can keep it a secret.

"Why are you angry?" she asks softly.

Bucky shakes his head. Flops on the couch next to her. "I don't know. Because you drive me crazy. Because I want you to stay safe and happy." He drops his hands from his eyes and looks at her. "Because maybe if you had someone here, you wouldn't be so desperate to go off to war and get yourself killed."

"I was eager to run off when I had someone." She smiles tentatively. "Besides, let's face it, Bucky. You can't survive without me. You're gonna need me over there."

"You're kind of full of yourself."

"Just telling it how I see it." She moves closer to him. "If she'd been the right one, I would have known what she meant."

"Not every girl is gonna be your soul mate. It's okay. You should go out and have fun."

"There's a war going on. People are dying. My best friend is going to fight an enemy without me by his side. Now's not the time to have fun. Not with just anyone."

"I want to have fun." He rests his head on the back of the couch. Looks at Steve. "I want to go out. Meet some girls. Dance. And I want you to come."

"Why do you always want me to come? You know I can't dance."

"We'll find someone to teach you." He pats Steve on the leg. "Now. I am going to take a shower. You get some more sleep, because you look horrible."

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. Just give me a few hours. Then we can go out. Get breakfast and see the sights. You know. See home."

Bucky looks at her for what feels like forever. So long that her hearts starts pounding again and her cheeks flush.

"Yeah. I'd like that." He moves then, pulls her to him. Hugs her tight, face pressed into her neck. "This is good, though," he whispers. "This is home."

Something deep in Steve unknots and relaxes. She breathes Bucky in deeply, smelling his familiar scent and the feel of his hair against her cheek. She wants to cry because she missed him so much, and now he's here and, soon, much too soon, he's going to be gone again.

But, for now, she just holds on and basks in the fact that, for the first time in weeks, she's finally home, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky's never been so aware of time before. Never paid attention to how seconds turn to minutes and into hours and into days until there's suddenly a deadline looming. He only has a precious number of seconds/hours/days left with Stevie before she's out of his life, probably forever.

Because he doesn't really have any illusions about what's going to happen over there. Not like Stevie does, so convinced that all she needs is to get over there to make things right. Or the guys at boot camp with their talk of heroics and glory. Too many people he knew have gone over and not come back. Why would he be any different?

So he hoards his seconds/hours/days that he has left with her. Stays up half the night, listening to her breathe. Finds excuses to meet her at work during the day and be there when she gets off. He cajoles her to Coney Island and back onto the Cyclone (she pukes again) and into an instant photo booth so he has something recent to take overseas with him. They go to Ebbets Field, even though it's off season and lounge around, eating hot dogs from street vendors and watching people go by.

And every day, Bucky checks for his orders with his heart in his throat. Breathes a little easier when he's told to wait.

"Nothing yet?" Stevie asks every day.

"Not yet."

The shadows in Stevie's eyes darken. The tension in Bucky's stomach gets even tighter. The executioner's sentence looms.

He knows that Stevie's going to try to join up again. The close call last time isn't enough to knock some sense into her. And he don't know how to get it through her thick skull. All he can do is hope that no doctor looks too closely and they continue to stamp their 4F on her enlistment forms.

"Sergeant James Barnes, reporting for orders," he says for what feels like the zillionth time. You'da thought they knew him on sight by now, except none of them ever seemed to actually look him in the face.

This time's different, though. The man actually looks up at him. Nods. "Have a seat, Sergeant. They'll be with you shortly."

He obeys with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Feels sick, like Stevie on the Cyclone. He sits for seconds/hours/days until he's called in. Given his order and he wants to laugh. The 107th. Stevie is going to kill him.

People on the street look at him differently when he walks by in uniform. They look at him with respect, like he's done something. Before, he got a vague mistrust from anyone over age thirty, like he was some hooligan not to be trusted. But, throw on a uniform and it was a whole 'nother ballgame. He was someone to look up to because they had no idea he was a traitor who'd betrayed his best friend.

Stevie has the day off. Bucky has seconds before he ships off, and he should spend the day with her, but he finds himself wandering the streets. He feels sick and sad. Reckless.

He goes into a diner, because it's early afternoon and he's in uniform and shouldn't be looking for trouble. Instead, he orders a cup of coffee and a burger. Who knows when he's going to get to eat this good again? Maybe he should get a sundae or something, while he still can. Except, that makes him think of Stevie, because it's pathetic to eat ice cream on your own when you could be with your best friend. So, a burger and coffee it is.

He hears some giggling from a booth nearby. When he glances over, there are two beautiful girls sitting there, heads together, curls bouncing, as they giggle together. They're looking at him, and blushes bloom on their cheeks like flowers when he meets their eyes.

He gives them a smile.

The giggles multiply. The brunette bats her eyelashes at him. Waves him over.

Okay, then.

"Afternoon." Bucky slides into the booth across from the girls. Leans forward, arms on the table.

The brunette grins. "Hi, soldier. What's your name?"

"Sergeant James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky."

More giggles.

"And what should I call you?"

"Bonnie. And this Connie." She tilts her head towards the blond.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. "Bonnie and Connie. That's real cute. Sisters?"

"Best friends." She leans forward. "So. You coming or leaving?"

"Leaving. Shipping out tomorrow for England."

She bats her big, brown eyes, and a part of him melts a little. "You scared?"

He thinks about telling her the truth, but from the way her sweet little tongue is moistening her lips and her eyes keep dropping to his mouth, he figures he might as well not mess up a sure thing. "Naw. They're the ones that gotta be scared. I'll show 'em what's what." He leans closer, until their heads are almost touching. "You and your friend got any plans tonight?"

Her cheeks are stained deep red. "No. No, we don't, Connie, right?"

"I might." Connie sounds less than happy.

Bucky pulls back. Smiles at her. "I gotta friend. Steve. Best man I know. Maybe the four of us could do something. You know. A last night out before I head overseas."

She softens. Nods. "Well, we were thinking of going to the World Exposition. Howard Stark's gonna be there tonight. Me and Bonnie are big fans. Of technology." Her face was bright red, now.

"World Exposition, huh? I've been wanting to go. How about me and Steve meet you there? Say, around six?"

Bonnie's hand brushes against his. "That's sounds great." She pulls back when the waitress comes with their food.

"So," he says, sitting back. "Where are you two from?"

It ends up being an enjoyable afternoon. They all talk. Bucky decides that Connie is a nice enough girl to set Steve up with, although she's a bit overinvested in Howard Stark. Bonnie is perfectly charming and will definitely give him some lovely memories to carry overseas with him before the night is over.

Because there's no way he can spend the night alone with Stevie. Not tonight. Not if this is goodbye.

* * *

><p>In retrospect, trying to join up again today might not have been a good idea. Her heart rate's been through the roof since Bucky came back. It feels like she's all stretched out inside, on the constant edge of panic. It's hard to breathe, hard to think. All she wants to do is curl into a ball and wait for everything to be okay again.<p>

But, she's an adult. And adults aren't allowed to cower in their beds when things get hard. So, she does the next best thing. She takes off work, heads down to the nearest recruitment center she hadn't tried yet, and lies.

Between her blood pressure being through the roof, her heart stuttering like crazy, and the rasp in her lungs when she breathes, she's almost not surprised when she's turned down again. Disappointed, but not surprised.

A fist bigger than her head connects with her jaw. Stevie stumbles back, hitting the wall of the alley. She hears her head crack against it, making her head spin.

"You just don't know when do give up, do ya?" the bully sneers.

Stevie shakes her head, trying to clear it. "I could do this all day."

He comes back at her, and, geeze, is he getting bigger? He's fast. It's all she can do to get her arms over her head and turn her face away. He's not pulling his punching, either, and pain blossoms out every time his fists connect.

And it's almost kind of good. She hurts, but it's a real hurt. An honest one, not like this soul ache she's had for so long. Being too sick and too small. Bucky leaving. It's all too much, but this is familiar. This is real and she can handle this.

"Hey! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The bully is pulled away and sent running down the alley with a few well-placed moves from Bucky.

Steve sighs. Pushes herself from the wall and wipes blood where its oozing from her nose.

"You know, sometimes I think you like getting punched," Bucky says. He sounds tired. And not even the tiniest bit surprised. Like he's been looking in every alleyway in Brooklyn just for her at some slow, leisurely stroll, knowing he'd find her eventually.

"I had him on the ropes," she assures him. Her ears are ringing.

"How many times is this?"

She looks up and sees he's holding her rejected enlistment papers. And he's still in uniform. Every day, after he reports, he's been going home and changing. Like he doesn't want anyone to see him in uniform.

Although, holy cow, he looks beautiful in it.

Bucky's shaking his head, a look of profound disappointment on his face. "Ah, you're from Paranus now. You know it's illegal to lie on your enlistment form. Seriously, Jersey?"

"You get your orders?"

He meets her eyes.

Her stomach drops.

"One oh seventh, Sergeant Bucky Barnes, shipping out to England tomorrow morning."

She wants to cry. Her best friend. Leaving. Without her.

"I should be going."

Bucky swallows. Looks at her.

She doesn't know what to say. Her mind has just stopped. Both of them just stand there, looking at each other. Breathing.

Then, Bucky cracks a smile. A shadow of his cocky grin, only it does reach his eyes. He wraps his arm around her neck and pulls her down the alley. "Come on, man. It's my last night. Gotta get you cleaned up."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"The future." He slaps a newspaper against her chest.

She takes it. "The World Exposition of Tomorrow, huh? Didn't think you were interested."

"Are you kidding? They got cars of the future, there. Course I'm interested."

"And that's your only reason for wanting to go tonight. A sudden need to satisfy your love of cars?"

He grin deepens, actually reaching his eyes, now. She can tell it's a real smile because a dimple appears in the corner of his mouth. "Well. There may be a couple girls who mentioned being there tonight."

She rolls her eyes. "Bucky…"

"Oh, come on, Steve. Yours is adorable. All blonde hair and big… eyes. You'll like her."

Big eyes. Sometimes, it was maddening to be best friends who never paid attention to important details. Like eye color. Or the way light reflected off the sidewalk at noon.

Or her, quietly dying inside, counting the seconds until Bucky was gone.

But, well, crying over what can't be changed won't help anything. That's what her mom always said, and that's what Steve tried to live by. If Bucky wanted to spend his last night at the World Exposition with a girl who, for all Steve knew, was the love of his life, then that's what they'd do.

"Sounds great, Bucky. It'll be fun."

He shoots her a look. "Ah, cheer up. We're gonna see Howard Stark. I've heard you talk about how artistic you think his designs are. And the girls are cute, Steve." He squeezed Steve's shoulder, then dropped his arm. "I just want to know you're going to be taken care of while I'm gone."

She laughs. The laugh startles her almost as much as his words. Her face hurts from the suddenness of her grin.

Bucky stops. Throws his arms out. "What?"

"I am sure that you, out of the goodness of your heart, went out and found two beautiful dames just so you'd be able to go overseas knowing that there was someone in New York looking out for me. I one hundred percent believe that this is an act of altruism."

"You accusing me of not thinking of my best friend in his time of need?"

She rolls her eyes. "First of all, it's not my time of need. I'm going to be fine. I'm a big boy. Second, you can't even remember her name."

"I do, too! It's Bonnie." Bucky frowns. "Or is it Connie. Um… well, one of them is Connie. The other's Bonnie." He tilts his head. "I think mine's Bonnie. You like blondes, right?"

"Yeah, I like blondes. She like short, skinny guys who get can't get into the Army?"

His face softens. He drops his eyes a moment before looking back up at her. "Well. Who wouldn't?"

She blushes. Looks away. "About fifty thousand girls in New York. But who's counting?" She sniffs and touches her nose. "So. I need to clean up. I gotta girl to meet."

Bucky just looks at her for a long moment. Then he nods. "Yeah. Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

The World Exposition is everything that it's been advertised and more. There are cars and planes and trains of the future. There are models for personal flight devices. There's lights and colors and sounds and food.

It's almost overwhelming. But Steve holds it together as he trails after Bucky and the girls.

Her so-called date, Connie, barely gave her a second look. She was visibly disappointed when Bucky had introduced them. Ever since, she's been gripping her friend's hand tightly as she, Bonnie, and Bucky making a snaking chain around the fair. Steve trails behind, eating popcorn and absorbing all the sights and sounds. Her fingers are itching to capture some of the things she sees-some of them so she never forgets, some of them because she can imagine them better-but she hasn't brought her sketchbook. Plus, she's on a date, even if her date doesn't seem to know she exists.

"It's starting!" Bonnie squeals. She and Connie start rushing towards the stage Howard Stark's going to be presenting on.

"Golly, he's even more handsome in person," Connie sighs.

Steve rolls her eyes and shakes the bag of popcorn. Connie's been peppering them all with facts about Howard Stark, when she can get a word in through Bonnie's incessant flirting with Bucky. Connie knew Stark's most recent invention, the famous dames he's dated, even his favorite color. It's both creepy and insulting, since Steve's standing right there and she doubts that Connie even remembers her name.

This was not how she planned to spend Bucky's last night. She'd hoped they'd spend it together. Alone. Talking and laughing and sharing stories. She'd draw pictures of home for him to take overseas, and he'd tease her for getting smudges on her face. They'd talk about old times and what they'd do when he came back (because he was coming back). They'd fall asleep early in the morning. Drink coffee on the fire escape, and then Steve would go with Bucky to the recruitment center. Say goodbye.

She sighs. Offers some popcorn to Connie and is rebuffed. Eats some herself. Looks around.

Her breath catches.

There's a recruitment center.

Every center she's gone to has been busy. The army needs so many men, it was no wonder. But. This was even busier than normal. So many people at the fair. And the atmosphere was fast and frenetic. So many men streaming in, so many to process.

She'll anything the doctors weren't being as thorough as they could. They might let someone slip by.

Maybe she could be off to basic training tomorrow morning, and then with Bucky before too long.

Bucky's not paying attention, and the girls don't even know she's there. Steve's in front of the recruitment center without anyone realizing he's done.

"Come on, you're kind of missing the point of a double date."

Okay, so Bucky notices. It makes Steve feel warm, Bucky seeing she's gone after only a few minutes, but she can't let that deter her. Not that, nor the annoyed look on Bucky's face.

"We're taking the girls dancing."

That'll be fun. She's got two left feet and is a head shorter than her so called date. "You go ahead. I'll catch up with you."

Bucky tightens his jaw. Looks past her at the people streaming in and out of the recruitment center. "You're really going to do this?"

"Well, it's a fair." She smiles. "I thought I'd try my luck."

The joke falls flat. Bucky looks like he's ready to hit her. "As, who, Steve from Ohio? They'll catch, worse, they'll actually take you."

She knows he's scared. That he's worried about what will happen to her, but she's so, so tired of it. tired of being taken care of, tired of trying to explain it. Tired of being rejected. "Look, I know you don't think I can do this…"

"This isn't a back alley, Steve, it's a war."

"I know it's a war!"

"Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs…"

Oh, she was so sick of hearing that! "What am I going to do?" she shouted. She can feel her face getting red, her heart pounding. "Collect scraps in my little red wagon?"

"Yes!" he shouts back, stepping closer so he's in her face.

She pushes him back. "I'm not going to sit in a factory, Bucky." He starts to turn away, so she yanks him back. "Bucky!"

He stops. Turns back with that stubborn punk look on his face. He'll stand there, but he won't listen to her.

She has to make him listen. "There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them." She tightens her grip on his coat, then lets it go. Steps back. "That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."

He shakes his head. "Right. Because you've got nothing to prove."

"Hey, Sarge!" Bucky's girl is a few feet away, all bouncing curls and pink cheeks. She's waving him over. Waving him away. "We going to dancing?"

Something in Bucky's face changes. He looks down at Steve, and he looks… sad. There's a kind of longing in his face, something fierce and almost hungry.

Her breath catches. Her face is hot. Her hands are numb and sweaty and she's lightheaded and she doesn't understand why.

Then he turns to the girl. "Yes, we are," he practically sings to her. When he turns back, there's a mask on his face. The expression from before is gone. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

The tension in her breaks. She smiles. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

"You're a punk."

"Jerk."

He envelops her in a hug. Holds her tight, giving her a moment to breathe him in, memorize everything about him.

Then Bucky steps back.

"Be careful. Don't win the war until I get there."

Bucky straightens his shoulder. Salutes her smartly. She can see a brightness in his eyes for a moment. Then he turns and walks away.

She watches until he's swallowed by the crowd, an ache in her throat. Then, she takes a deep breath and goes into the center.

* * *

><p>His eyes burn and his heart aches. In the center of the whirlwind of people and lights and technology, all he sees is Steve's face right before he turned away. Her expression: sad, proud, lonely, determined. Everything good about her in that one expression. Exactly like he wants to remember her.<p>

It's for the best, he assures himself while he laughs and dances and plays nice with Bonnie. Steve won't get in, not tonight, not ever. She'll stay in New York. Work for the war effort in some other way. Eventually she'll meet someone who sees how perfect she is. They'll fall in love and get married and all that. When Bucky comes back, if he comes back, he'll find Stevie safe and alive and living the life he always wanted for her.

She'll be happy. And Bucky will…

Well. That doesn't matter as much. It never really has.

* * *

><p>The recruitment center is a whirlwind of sounds and people. So many men streaming in, signing up. A lot of them are underage, and, like Steve, trying their luck on a busy night. Others come in with dames hanging on their arms, flushed and giggling, thrilled at the idea of becoming a hero in front of a pretty girl's eyes.<p>

There was a feeling here that had been absent from the other recruitment centers. An almost palpable excitement. A joy. Like they didn't realize that this wasn't some adventure. It wasn't going to be something fun. This was war. It was the opposite of fun.

Still, Steve know she shouldn't judge. She has her reasons for wanting to go, they have theirs. And, it's hard not to be excited. The whole purpose of the fair was to get you excited about the future. Well. This was the future.

The doctor checks her over almost perfunctorily. Ears, eyes, throat, reflexes. He doesn't ask many questions, just moves as quickly as he can.

She tries not to get excited. Too hopeful. Even a doctor going fast will see her blood pressure shoot up or hands start to tremble.

"Okay, you can button up your shirt," the doctor says, pulling his stethoscope away from her chest. He picks up the clipboard and starts scribbling when a nurse steps in.

She walks to the doctor and whispers in his ear.

The doctor nods. He glances at Steve and says, "Wait here."

Her chest tightens. "Is there a problem?"

"Just wait here." He leaves.

She can feel a panic attack coming on, all of Bucky's fears for her crashing over her. Her hands tighten on the examination table. She takes a deep breath. Thinks of her dad. Of the great heroes that came before her. Of the brave men and women willing to die for what they believed in.

Her heart slows downs. Another deep breath, and she hops off the table and begins to put on her shoes.

The flap of the examination room opens and an MP steps in.

Oh, darn.

And then, another doctor walks in. He looks at the MP and adjusts his glasses. "Thank you."

The MP leaves, closing the curtains behind him.

For a moment, the doctor just looks at her. Right into her eyes, and that moment stretches on forever, even though it's just a heartbeat. When he looks down at the file, Steve feels raw. Discombobulated, like he'd just rifled through her soul.

"So," he says, opening the file folder, "you want to go overseas and kill some Nazis."

She's not expecting the words or the heavy German accent that accompanies them. The starkness of his phrasing startles her more than the accent. Not that she doesn't know war's about killing, but it's not like she's looking forward to it.

She doesn't know how to answer. "Excuse me?"

He moves closer and holds out a hand. "Dr. Abraham Erskine. I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve."

That means less than nothing to her. Maybe it's a foreign thing, like British Secret Service or something. "Where are you from?"

"Queens. Seventy-third Street and Utopia Parkway." He reaches up and adjust his glasses, his hand curved, catching shadows. "Before that, Germany."

Steve nodded, wondering what part of Germany and if he defected and if he'd joined the government before or after the war effort began, and a thousand other questions, including if he'd pose for her, because that second of stillness when he touched his glasses had been almost moving in its elegance and deserved to be immortalized, but while she tries to choose her next question, he must misread her face because he says, "This troubles you?"

She shakes her head. "No." Because she's from New York, and everyone is from somewhere, and just because you're from Germany doesn't make you a Nazi. A few months ago, she'd gotten a concussion trying to make that point, and Bucky hadn't helped with his yelling about how she needed to just keep her idealistic principles to herself sometimes.

"Where are you from, Mr. Rogers, hmm?" He looks down at the file he has open on the examination table. "Is it New Haven?"

Her stomach sinks.

"Or Paramus? Five exams in five different cities."

Her ears fill with the lub-lubbing sound of rushing blood. "That might not be the right file." How? How did he _get_ that?

"No, it's not the exams I'm interested in. It's the five tries." He closes the file, picks it up, and walks toward her. "But you didn't answer my question. Do you want to kill Nazis?

That question again. God. Bucky had asked her something similar once, the night after she'd rescued the dog and she couldn't sleep because of a headache. She hadn't known how to answer him. She didn't want to sound like coward, but didn't want to lie.

She still doesn't.

"Is this a test?"

Dr. Erskine thinks about it a moment, then nods. "Yes."

There's something so earnest in his voice, in his expression. Steve realizes she can't lie to him. Doesn't want to lie to him. She wants him to know the truth. If she's going to be rejected again, she won't let it be for a lie.

"I don't want to kill anyone," she tells him. She hears a note of apology in her voice and it makes her mad. She's not _sorry_ about this. "I just don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from."

He gives her that long look again, his gaze rifling through her soul, picking out pieces of her. He looks… pleased. "Well," he says. "There are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe now what we need is a little… guy."

Her hearts skips a beat on the pause. A little what? she wonders, but he says guy, and then he says, "I can offer you a chance. Only a chance."

Joy rushes through her, making her dizzy. "I'll take it!"

He turns and walks through the curtains again. "Good." He leads her to the main desk. "So, where is the little guy from? Actually?"

"Brooklyn," Steve says. She can't believe this is happening. She watches him closely, waiting for the punch line, waiting for the world to be pulled out from under her.

He picks up a stamp. Brings it down on the paper. "Congratulations, solider." Dr. Erskine smiles at her as he hands the file to her.

Her hands shake as she takes it.

IA.

Oh, God. She's in. She's finally, finally in!

She looks up to thank Dr. Erskine, to find that he's already walking away.

"Sir?" a nurse says. "Please go down that hall and take a right. They'll process your application and give you your orders."

"My orders," Steve repeats dumbly. He looks at the nurse. Nods. "Thank you."

"Congratulations, solider."

"Thanks. She straightens her shoulders and goes down the hall.

The rest of the night and next day are somewhat of a blur. After she gets her orders, she goes home to pack. Bucky never comes back, but that's okay. That's okay, because she'll be with him overseas. He's in the 107th, and she'll tell everyone who will listen that's where she belongs and she'll get there.

In the meantime, she has to give her notice at work. Talks with the landlord about the apartment. Cleans out the ice box, cleans up.

And then its time. She goes to the recruitment center. Stands with the dozen other men recruited by the SSR and climbs onto the bus. Onto the future.

A solider at last.


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days are agonizing. Everything is rush, rush, rush, rush then wait, wait, wait. Steve feels like she's never sat around and done so much nothing before in her life. It's all so stupid. The rushing to get somewhere, only to have to sit and wait once they're there. Why can't they just get there when they're needed and get started right away? Why do they have to wait?

And of course, it's extra torture for her. The first thing they do when they get on base is rush over to medical and wait around for another exam. The nurse purses her lips when she weighs Stevie, and the doctor frowns while he listens to her breathe and takes her pulse.

"This man is unfit for service," he says after calling the lieutenant that's been escorting them around over.

The lieutenant shrugs and says, "I was told this was just a formality. You're just supposed to sign the papers."

"He's ninety-five pounds. His blood pressure is 140 over 90, and he's wheezing. There's no way he can go into combat."

"Yes, but my orders…"

"To hell with your orders. I cannot, in good conscious, let this man out of the hospital, much less to basic training."

"I'm not sick," Steve said. The other guys are shooting looks in her direction, and she tries not to blush or duck her head. "I'm fine. I can do this."

The lieutenant nods his head. "Doctor, these men are under SSRs command. You need…"

"You know what, fine. SSR wants this one so bad, they can send their own doctor over to sign his death warrant."

Which is what they finally do. The rest of the men are taken off to chow and Steve has to wait for Dr. Erskine. After about an hour, a nurse comes with a cup of coffee and sandwich. The doctor drops by and gives her some tablets to take care of her wheezing. After about an hour, Erskine finally appears.

"I hear there is a problem?" he says in his soft, mild voice to the doctor who is currently trying to explain to Steve all the horrors that await her on the battlefield.

Steve lets out a sigh of relief and gives Dr. Erskine a small smile.

"Yes," the doctor says, turning to Erskine. "This man shouldn't be here. I don't know how the hell he got this far."

"I approved him. He is in a special program."

"Oh, I know about you the voodoo hokum you all are planning to do over in that secret club of yours, but this man…"

"This man is none of your concern." Dr. Erskine picks up Steve's file and signs it with a flourish. "There. Now you can rest easy. Come along, solider."

Steve leaps to her feet. "Uh, thanks," she says to the doctor, because her mom would be disappointed if she wasn't polite to someone who'd just been looking out for her. Then she follows Dr. Erskine. "Thanks."

"There is no need to thank me. I said I would give you a chance, and I am only following through on that promise." He leads her outside and down a path towards some buildings.

Steve nods. Then, she asks, "Is he right? Am I just setting myself up for death?"

"No. If all goes right, you will come through this stronger than you were before."

"What did he mean? The voodoo hokum thing? What does that mean?"

Erskine stops and turns to her. "The Scientific Strategic Reserve was put together to help create the perfect solider. Through training and through science. Now this science is advanced, more advanced than most people can understand. To them, it looks like nonsense. Like magic. But it's science all the same."

She tilts her head, considering Erskine's words. "So. You're giving us pills or something to make us stronger?"

"Not pills. And not just stronger." He nods at a building and hands her the file with her medical records. "The rest of the platoon is in there. I'll be seeing you."

"Thanks," she says as he walks away. Then she turns and jogs to the building. She opens the door, steps in, and hears the sound of twenty voice falling silent at the sight of her.

Her entire body flushes hot with embarrassment. Trying not to show it, she crosses the room to the lieutenant. "Medical sent me over." She holds out the file.

The lieutenant takes it and gives her a clipboard. "Fill these out quickly. We need to hurry over to get you all outfitted."

"Yes, sir." Steve finds an empty chair and begins filling out the forms. It's standard stuff: name, date of birth, next of kin, and so on. All to be filled out in triplicate. She puts Bucky down as her next of kin, because he's the closest thing she has.. Her hand is cramping by the time she's done, and everyone else is sitting and talking. Waiting for her to finish up.

And then, they're taken to the next place, which is uniforms. They sit outside the warehouse for almost two hours, watching other platoons head inside as civilians and walk out dressed as military.

"Hey, runt. Hey." A rock hits the toe of Steve's shoe.

She looks up.

"Don't I know you?" the man sitting across from her asks. He's studying her face like it's a puzzle.

She tries not to sigh. "Um, no. I don't think so." She says a silent prayer that he's not able to place her.

But then his face clears and falls into a familiar smirk. "You're that little loudmouth I beat up the other day, ain't you? From the movie theater?"

The men around them are watching them now.

"Yeah," Steve says tiredly. "Yeah, that's it."

"He was mouthing off to me at a show," the man says. "I took him around back and taught him a lesson."

No one says anything, but Steve can see them sizing them up. About few of them smirk, like they'd just heard the best joke. The man next to her just huffs a sign and kind of rolls his eyes.

"I'm Gilmore Hodge." The bully sticks out his hand.

"Steve Rogers."

"So, skinny Steve, you got any idea what this is all about? Why we're all here?"

"I thought we were waiting for uniforms."

"You really are a wiseass, aren't you?"

She smiles. "I don't know any more than you do. All I was told that I was being given a chance. What about you?"

He shrugs. "My draft card was pulled and I was told to show up for orders. While I'm there, this colonel comes over and asks if I want the chance to let the Army make a real man out of me. A real warrior. I figure why not? I signed a paper and here I am. I just don't get, if they asked someone like me to do this, how I ended up with someone like you."

"What do you mean, someone like me?" She's on her feet, fists clenched at her sides.

Hodge rises in an easy, smooth movement, the same smirk from the other day plastered on his face. "We all heard the doc. You ain't fit for duty. So if you're here, what does that mean for me?"

"I am as fit for duty as any of you."

Hodge shoves her. She stumbles back, almost losing her balance. Her fists come up, ready.

"Hey, none of that!" The man who was sitting next to her jumps to his feet and steps between her and Hodge. "We're soldiers, guys, not kids on the street."

Steve, heart racing with adrenaline, nods. "Right. Right." Swallowing, she holds out her hand. "Truce."

"Yeah, whatever." Without taking her hand, Hodge sits back down.

The man pats Steve on the shoulder. "Don't mind him. You know the type: too much muscle, not enough brain." He gently pushes Steve back to the line and sits down. "I'm Tyler Paxton."

"Steve Rogers."

He shakes her hand. "A buddy of mine has a girl who's a nurse. She says that she heard the SSR is trying to make some kind of scientifically engineered soldier. Like, using chemicals and stuff to make us stronger and faster. They've even got Howard Stark secretly working with them."

"If it's a secret, how does she know?"

Tyler smiles crookedly. "It's the Army. The more secret something is, the more everyone talks about it." He shrugs and adds, "I figure, if they want to turn me into the perfect solider, who am I to say no?"

Steve nods. She toys with telling him what Erskine told her, but just then the lieutenant comes back and orders them to their feet and they finally go inside for uniforms.

Getting her uniform is another ordeal. Nothing fits her. Even their smallest set engulfs her body. It takes forever for them to take in and shorten a pair of slacks, and even then, they're still a little long. The suspenders help, but the shirts going to be a little big until they can get new ones. And the helmet…

Well. They get it so it stays on her head and doesn't fall over her eyes when she tilts her head back. But she can hear giggling and can't even blame anyone. She looks ridiculous.

By the time she rejoins the rest of the men, she's tired, cranky, and a little sore. Her bottom hurts from sitting on it so long, and her neck hurts from having to tilt her head back so many times to test the helmet. The sandwich has long burned off, so she's hungry, and she just wants to do something. Anything!

"All right," the lieutenant says. "Form two lines here. You're about to meet the people in charge. Remember, when you're at attention, you look straight ahead. Don't turn your head to look who's talking to you, don't move your eyes. Keep them on the horizon. Don't scratch, don't fidget, hell. Don't even breath. And, don't mouth off. You're not the big man on the block any more and no one wants to hear you jawing."

"Recruits, attention!" a woman says sharply.

Steve does immediately. A thrill rolls through her as she does, and all her complaints fall away. Because, wow. She's here. She's a solider. She finally did it. She's where she belongs.

A beautiful woman with thick brown hair and big, serious eyes stops in front of them. She looks them over a moment before giving a sharp nod. "Gentlemen, I'm Agent Carter. I supervise all operations for this division," she says in a melodious English accent.

Not something that Steve was expecting, but she goes with it. Dr. Erskine is German. Yeah, he defected, but it's not like just America is in the war. Maybe the SSR is some kind of cooperative operation between the Allies.

"What's with the accent, your majesty?" Hodge drawls a sullen voice. "I thought I was signing up for the US Army."

Steve winces internally. They were just told not to mouth off to their superiors, and Hodge can't last one second? Of course, this is a man who thinks pounding on someone half his size is a bragging achievement, so maybe she shouldn't be surprised.

Agent Carter has Hodge step forward, but Steve gets distracted when she's handed a clipboard.

_I, the undersigned, understand that my participation in this experiment is voluntary and…_

Agent Carter decks Hodge, who hits the ground. Steve has to bite back a laugh of delight. She can't stop the grin or the look of admiration she gives the beautiful agent. Gosh, she hopes that Agent Carter teaches her to do that. Maybe she'd even let Steve practice on Hodge a few times.

"Agent Carter!"

"Colonel Phillips," she says to the grizzled, greying man who walks to the candidates with the stride of a man who's conquered the world.

"I see you're breaking in the candidates. That's good!"

The man who'd handed Steve the clipboard gives it an impatient tap. Steve quickly scribbles her name over it, not caring to read anymore. She'll gladly follow Agent Carter into Hell, never mind the legalities. Besides, she's already agreed to let them do whatever. She needs to be in this war.

"General Patton has said wars are fought with weapons but they are won by men. We are going to win this war because we have the best men." He voice falters, and Steve can feel his eyes on her.

She straightens her shoulders. Tightens her jaw and repeats to herself that she has just as much right to be here as anyone else. She's being given a chance.

"And because they are going to get better. Much better. The Strategic Scientific Reserve is an Allied effort made up of the best minds in the free world. Our goal is to create the best army in history. But every army starts with one man. At the end of this week, we will choose that man. He will be the first in a new breed of super-soldier. And they will personally escort Adolph Hitler to the gates of hell." He looks at the soldiers again, eyes lingering on Steve. "You got questions, now's the time to ask them."

There's absolute silence. Steve can feel a thousand questions wanting to be asked, but no one wanting to be first.

She takes a deep breath. Raises her hand.

"What's your name, son?"

"Rogers. Steve Rogers."

"And your question?"

"Um. What… How are you going to choose the man to be… a super soldier. Sir?"

"Good question. And when you need to know, we'll tell you. In the meantime, question and answer time is over. I think you men have stood around long enough. You will now be taken to your barrack where you will unpack and make your beds. If you don't do it right, you will make and remake it until it's perfect. You will then have chow, hit the sack, and be out here at oh five hundred for PT. Any more questions?"

There was nothing.

"All right men, fall out!"


	8. Chapter 8

Training is grueling. It's all Steve can do to keep going. She's slower and weaker than everyone, which she knew going in, but now there's always people standing around, watching and writing on clipboards. Agent Carter, Dr. Erskine, and others, whose names she lost in the haze of exhaustion that she now lives in.

She refuses to give up. She wheezes almost constantly, but she hasn't had a full blown asthma attack, so she can handle it. Erskine gave her a pack of asthma cigarettes the first morning, so the few times she's felt too close, she's had something. The drill sergeant just about had a fit the first time he saw her smoking one on the ten minute reprieve he'd given them, but Agent Carter said something to him that stopped his objections.

It's not just her asthma, though. She can't do more than four push-ups in a row. Hodge is able to push her around and be first in about every exercise. Every muscle in her body aches and she can't think because she's working so hard. The only thing she's managing to hold in her mind is that she can't fail, she can't stop. She has to get through this, has to get chosen. This is where she belongs.

She can't get the clipboards out of her head. She jogs after the rest of the men, trailing by several feet. Ahead of them is a jeep with Agent Carter. She's been writing furiously all morning. Steve wonders what the notes say. If they talk about how fast Hodge is and how Paxton has great upper body strength. She bets there's a note for each of her failings there. She just hopes that someone notices that, as hard as everything is, she hasn't given up.

The drill sergeant tells them to stop. Steve's barely caught up with everyone before all the men start trying to frantically scramble up the poll. She watches them, trying to slow her heart, which is trying to break through her chest. The drill sergeant is shouting how no one's ever been able to get the flag off the pole and then orders them back into formation in disgust.

She doesn't even have to think. She just looks at the flagpole and sees it. Sees the lynchpin, sees the pole falling to the ground. She's got the flag down and in her hand before the drill sergeant's promise of a ride back to camp fully penetrates her mind.

There's dead silence when she hands the flag to the drill sergeant. She's too tired to smile the way she wants to. Instead, she walks over to the jeep and climbs inside.

Agent Carter turns and looks at her. The corners of her mouth quirk and she nods her head at Steve. Then, she turns around and they're heading back to base.

"That was clever," Agent Carter says when Steve climbs out of the jeep in front of the barracks. "Your solution for getting the flag. Command thinking."

She blushes. "I, uh. I didn't actually think," Steve says, rubbing the back of her neck. "I just saw it."

"I see." And she does look like she understands, her eyes going distant for a moment. Then they sharpen on Steve again. "You're doing well. The traits we're looking for aren't all physical. Don't let the others intimidate you."

"It's not the others who intimidate me, ma'am. It's the clipboards."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The, uh. Notes. Every time we do anything. It's all written down."

"Well." Agent Carter's smile turns cryptic and a sort of twinkle comes to her eyes. "We need to make sure we have the best man for the job. So, yes, everything is written down. And, believe me when I say, that some of those who excel physically, well… some of the rocks scattered around camp are still more impressive." She turns and settles back into a jeep A moment later, they drive away.

Steve watches her go, blushing stupidly at the back of Agent Carter's head.

Despite her reprieve, the rest of the day is grueling. Push-ups, jumping jacks. They do the obstacle course again, and while Steve is able to get up the rope ladder without falling (she waits until everyone else is off, then scrambles up; it's much easier when she's not being bounced around by the others), she's still embarrassingly slow and inept. She ignores the other's laughter, ignores the look of permanent contempt etched on Phillips' face when he looks at her. It's all secondary. All that matters right now is getting through.

That night, she falls onto her bunk with a groan. Every muscle is screaming. There's a deep, dark ache in her joints, especially her elbows. Her chest is all stretched out like taffy and she can't get it filled with air all the way. She gasps at the end of each inhale, coughs on the exhale. If she wasn't so tired, she'd smoke one of the cigarettes, but even thinking about it takes too much effort. Lying here drooling on her pillow is about all she's capable of at the moment, and that's perfectly fine with her.

"Jesus, look at him," Hodge sneers. "You think he's here as some kind of joke? Or a bet?"

"Maybe they wanted an example for what a super soldier isn't," someone else suggests. "Like, look at him, and think of the opposite."

Steve rolls over and sits up. "Erskine brought me here to give me a chance to serve my country. It's not a joke."

"Just because you're not in on it don't mean it's not one." Hodge sits on the bunk next to Steve. "Look at you. The doctor wasn't kidding when he said you weren't fit to serve. You can't even support your own weight, and you're two pounds. It's pathetic. And insulting to the rest of us."

"How?"

"You're wasting our time. You heard Phillips. Wars are won by men. You ain't a man. You're barely even a boy. But you're here, taking the place of someone who might be chosen, and they have to watch and test you just like the rest of us. Why are you even here? You're going to die overseas if they send you."

"I'm willing to take that chance."

"Well, I ain't. " Hodge raises his eyebrows at Steve. "That shocks you? That I don't want to die? Let me tell you something, Shrimp, no sane man wants to die. Not even for his country. Why should he? Why should I?"

"People are being hurt."

"So? What's it got to do with me? I'm not the one being hurt. I'm safe, people I care about are safe. Why do I have to risk my life for a bunch of people I don't even know? That ain't even American? It's bullshit, that's what it is. So, if the Army wants to make me stronger, make me faster, make it harder to kill me, then I'm going to do it. I'll do whatever I need to so I can survive this war."

"But…"

"But nothing. Face it. War isn't about ideals. It's not about glory. It's blood and death and injury. If that's what you're after, great. Fine. You wanna be there so bad, then you go over the way you are now. But let me have a chance to get out of this alive." With that, Hodge pushes himself to his feet and storms away.

Steve watches him go, aware that people are looking at her. At Hodge. She wonders how many of them feel the same way. How many of them are here just so they might have the slightest chance to survive.

She can't exactly argue with that point of view. Oh, she doesn't want Hodge to be made any stronger than he is already, but that's because Hodge is a bully. Making him stronger and faster won't make him better; it'll just give him more power to beat up on people like her. But wanting to survive… she understands that. She doesn't want to die overseas, she really doesn't. No one does. And if Erskine can make her better, make her more likely to survive, then great.

But she's still willing to lay her life down for the greater good. Heck, she's laid her life down for helpless animals on multiple occasions. Giving her life to help others isn't even a question for her.

But her family is Bucky and Bucky is at war already. Hodge, she knows, has a sister. And three nieces and a nephew. She can see why he might fight so hard not to leave them behind.

Maybe, just maybe, Steve is taking something away from the others. Maybe Erskine shouldn't have brought her here.

Those thoughts circulate through her mind all night. The few hours she sleeps, she dreams of Hodge being shot, glaring at her through accusing eyes. She wakes feeling sick and guilty. It's almost a relief to get back to training. The sheer effort of trying to lift her arms over her head and keep breathing at the same time blocks out everything else.

Until a small object falls to the ground in front of her and someone shouts, "Grenade!"

Once again, she reacts before the thought takes clear hold. She sees the grenade, sees everyone ducking for cover, and she knows what has to be done.

"Get away!" she screams. "Get back!" She braces herself.

Nothing happens. There's no sound, no movement. No moment of pain followed by oblivion.

"It's a dummy grenade," someone says. "Get back in formation."

She lifts her head. Agent Carter is standing over her, looking…

A few years back, Steve had been playing ball with some of the little kids on the block. There was this empty corner lot that the big kids used, but Steve had claimed it for the evening for the little ones. Bucky was with them, too. He'd thrown the ball and it'd gotten past Steve. One of the kids, four or five, had gone running after it. He'd run into the street and this car had been coming…

Steve remembers dropping her glove. Chasing after the kid. Then there was pain and the breath had been knocked out of her and the world spun.

And there'd been Bucky. Looking down at her like he didn't know whether to kill her or throw a parade.

Agent Carter had that same look on her face right now.

"Is this a test?" Steve asks weakly.

The murderous part of her expression fades away. The corners of Agent Carter's mouth curve and her eyes turn warm.

Steve's stomach flips.

"All right, recruits, get back in formation. Now!" Phillips barks.

Steve pushes herself onto her feet. She falls into attention as the others fall in around her.

Phillips stops in front of her. If man ever developed the ability to shoot fire from his eyes, Steve would bet Phillips would be the first to sign up, then use it on her. She has to fight back the shiver.

"Troops, you have one hour to get yourself food, get back to the barracks to pack your gear, and then be in formation outside. Dismissed."

There's an awkward moment where no one moves.

"I said move your asses!" Phillips turns back to Steve. "Not you, Rogers. You report to the infirmary. Erskine, feel free to escort him so he doesn't get lost." He does a sharp about face and marches off.

Steve glances at Agent Carter, who smiles and then follow Phillips away without a word.

"Steven?"

"What's going on? I mean, what happened?" Steve asks Dr. Erskine.

"You just settled an argument between Colonel Phillips and myself."

"What argument?" She follows as Dr. Erskine begins to make his way towards the infirmary. "I'm not hurt."

"No, no, I know. But before to procedure, I have to take more exact readings from than I have before. So, we go to medical."

"Wait, procedure? You mean…" She stops walking.

Dr. Erskine turns. "You have been chosen to represent America as the first super-solider. Congratulations."

"Take a deep breath and hold."

Steve complies. Dr. Erskine's stethoscope is cold against her skin, raising gooseflesh. She tries and fails not to shiver.

"Again."

She takes another deep breath and holds.

Finally, he nods. "Okay. Good." He lets the stethoscope fall and picks up Steve's chart. "After the serum, you should never have trouble breathing again. Not like you have before. Your heart, your lungs, everything will be strong and healthy."

"That'll be nice," she says. She lifts her hands to her mouth and blows into them. "Will I still feel this cold all the time?"

The doctor smiles and shakes his head. "Not unless you are in the cold. And, even then, your tolerance will increase."

"Have you ever tried this on anyone else?" she asks. "Just cause… you seem awfully sure."

Dr. Erskine falls silent. His eyes turn inward. "I have, yes." He looks back to her. "But now is not the time to discuss it. Later, I will answer your questions. But now, lie down."

She wants to ask anyway, to dig into the look for sorrow on his face, to find out who came before her. But, she lets it be. She lies back on the table, shivering again when her back comes in contact with the chilled surface. She wishes she was wearing her shirt, but Dr. Erskine had said he needed to take measurements and could only get accurate measure without anything in the way. He'd measured her chest, her waist, her stomach and hips. Her forearms and neck. He'd even measured the instep of her feet.

He presses against her stomach. "Any pain?"

"No."

He feels around a little more, pressing against her abdomen. He takes his tape measure and measures down the length of her chest again, then from her collarbone to her nipples. He makes a few more notes, then goes back to pressing. This time, he presses lower. He palpitates the area right above her hips. He's not even looking at her; his gaze is inward again. He's doing his examination by touch.

She wonders what he's feeling.

"Tell me, Steve. Do you menstruate regularly?"

It's such an alien question to her that she doesn't answer. She furrows her brow and looks at him, not quite understanding what he's asking.

He must have read the confusion on her face, because he says, "Your cycle. Is it regular." He pulls his hands away.

It still takes a minute for it to sink in. And when it does…

Horror shoots through her body. Her heart heaves in her chest, flipping over and she can't breathe, can't think. She's off the table and pulling on her clothes, blood pounding in her ears. Her hands shake and she can't… she can't…

"Steve. Steven! Stop. It's all right." Dr. Erskine puts his hands on her arms.

A surge of strength unlike she's ever known goes through her. She throws off his arms and punches him in the face.

Dr. Erskine staggers back. He holds his nose, blood seeping through his fingers.

"Move!" Steve shouts, voice shrill.

He blocks the door. "Do you think I would ask you that if I didn't already know?" Dr. Erskine asks. "Steve, I know. I've always known and I don't care. I chose you. Calm down before someone hears."

"But… but…"

He drops his hands away from his face. Wipes away some blood with the back of his hand. "You are the best candidate. It doesn't matter that you are a woman. I don't care why you are passing yourself as a man, that doesn't concern me. However, the serum is designed to make you the pinnacle of human perfection. Right now your body fat ratio is so low that I suspect your menstrual cycles are erratic. I believe that after the serum, you will experience a more regular cycle." He smiles crookedly. "I only wished to warn you."

"And that's how you choose to do it?" She drops into a chair and puts her hand over her heart. "You almost gave me a heart attack, Doctor."

"I apologize."

She takes a few deep breaths. Her heart slows. "How did you know?"

Dr. Erskine shakes his head. "I just… I looked at you and saw you were biologically female. You look very much like a man. Androgynous, but that might be due to your size. I cannot guarantee that you will continue to pass after the procedure."

"Why…"

"You will become bigger. I cannot say how much bigger." He glances at her now clothed chest.

Steve crosses her arms. "What will they do when they find out?"

"I don't know."

She licks her lips. "I don't… This isn't just so I could go to war. This is how I live. This is who I am. I don't know what I'd do if I had to start living life as a woman."

"Do not worry, Steven. I don't intend on allowing them to find out. The consequences might be…" He trails off.

"Might be what?"

He looks at her a moment, then shakes his head. "Never mind. As I said, I don't plan on them finding out. I had enough trouble convincing Phillips of this in the first place. No, with a bit of misdirect, I think we can still do this."

"But what if…" She makes a vague gesture at her chest, her cheeks burning.

"Well. It helps that you have not only a scientific genius working on this, but a brilliant inventor as well. Between the two of us, Steven, we will come up with something. I promise you this."

"Okay. I trust you." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Why? I mean, if you knew I'm a… whatever… the whole time, then why me?"

"I told you. We already have so many big men fighting this war. Maybe we need something different. We need you."

"Maybe?"

He smiles. "All I can do is make you bigger and stronger. The rest is up to you."


	9. Chapter 9

She's not nervous. She's not. In fact she's almost overly calm. No feelings at all. Just… nothing. A void where her feelings should be.

She's calm all night, staring sleeplessly at the ceiling. She's calm while dressing. She's calm when she walks out and is met by Agent Carter, who ushers her into a car.

_"You must stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man."_

The words play in her head over and over. She breathes them. Brushes her teeth to them. Buttons her shirt to them.

If she had any emotion, she's sure she'd be worried that she might never live up to those words. But she's empty, floating, peaceful.

For the thousandth time, Steve reaches up to adjust her necktie. She must have tied it too tightly this morning; she's not getting enough air. Not like an asthma attack or anything, just like, when she breathes, not enough is getting through. It makes her feel floaty, like her brain isn't quite steady in her skull. If only she could get it adjusted right, though. Then maybe her fingertips would stop tingling.

She takes a deep breath. Looks out the window at some kids playing ball.

Her stomach tightens.

"I know this neighborhood," she says. She points out the window. "I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner." Well, that was nice. Sharing that. She's on her way to get turned into a soldier with the most beautiful dame she's ever seen, and she's relaying her greatest embarrassments. That'll reassure Agent Carter that Steve's the right choice. With Steve's luck, the agent will march into the laboratory, announce to Colonel Phillips that a mistake was made, and demand they find someone who wasn't such a loser to become their hero.

"Did you have something against running away?" Agent Carter asks. She sounds bored. And disappointed.

Steve tugs at her necktie again and wonders what kind of sadist designed it. "You start running, they never let you stop. You stand up, you push back. They can't say no forever, right?" A lesson she'd learned from her mother. Her mother, who'd worked so hard every day of her life to make sure that Stevie was fed and clothed and healthy. Who'd gone to the hospital to care for the ill, then came back to the neighborhood and did the same for anyone who didn't have enough money to go to a doctor. Her mother, who'd been a hero.

Before she can explain any of this, Agent Carter says, "I know a little of what that's like. To have every door shut in your face."

She can imagine. Steve's seen women in the Army. Some are pretty, some are plain, but none have Agent Carter's knockout good looks. She's so beautiful, she could have been in the pictures or something. A model. She could be famous.

Steve imagines it for a moment. Agent Carter, up on the screen. Playing a queen, beautiful, regal. And then a soldier catches her eye. Poor, but brave. Noble. And she's forced to choose between love and duty. There'd be close ups on those deep, soulful eyes of her as she stared into the distance, heart torn…

"I guess I just don't see why you'd want to join the Army if you were a beautiful dame," Steve says without thinking. She's imagining the poor soldier sneaking into the palace. How he'd sweep the queen into his arms and…

Oh. Oh, no. What….

"Or a woman. And agent. Not a dame." And there's the nervousness she hadn't been feeling earlier. "I mean," she says desperately, wanting to explain about the film and the queen and everything, "you are beautiful, but…"

Agent Carter's lips twitch. "You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?"

She's too hot. She prays for lightning to strike the car. "I think this is the longest conversation I've ever had with one. Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they can step on." She expects that to be the end of the conversation, so she's surprised when Agent Carter continues.

"You must have danced."

Steve fiddles with her cap. "Well. Asking a woman to dance always seemed so terrifying. And the past few years, it just didn't seem to matter that much. I figured I'd wait."

"For what?"

She tugs at the necktie. "The right partner."

Agent Carter doesn't laugh at her. She doesn't make a sound.

"I'm sorry," Steve says after a long silence has passed.

"What for?"

She takes a deep breath. "I don't… It's not that I don't understand. About women. I mean, about them wanting to do… things. I just…"

"Steve."

She looks up.

Agent Carter is looking at her, an expression of patient amusement on her face. "I understand."

The car slows. The pull to a stop in front of a shop.

"I thought we were going to a lab."

"This a top secret experiment," Agent Carter says, opening her door. "It's a secret lab."

Steve climbs out of the car. She can't help gawking as Agent Carter exchanges code words with the old woman in the shop, who then opens a wall. She feels like she's in one of her favorite spy novels, or in a comic book, as they walk down the long lit hallway and into…

A secret laboratory. Son of a gun.

There are so many people inside. Nurses and doctors and scientists. Men in business suits and uniforms. When she and Agent Carter step inside, everyone stops and looks at them.

At her.

She hopes she isn't visibly trembling.

She looks at Agent Carter for reassurance only to find her own nervousness etched on the agent's face.

Not reassuring.

They make their way downstairs to a scene from a Jules Verne novel. Dr. Erskine is there, with a clipboard, and he comes over immediately to shake Steve's hand.

A light flashes, blinding Steve.

"Please, not now," Erskine says to the photographer.

Steve blinks bright spots from her eyes. As she does, she looks over at the pod.

Dr. Erskine had explained the night before what to expect. She'll get into the pod. Over fifty needles will inject the serum into her muscle tissue all at once, and then Mr. Stark will turn on the Vita-Rays, which will accelerate growth.

"Will it hurt?" she'd asked.

"Terribly."

It looks like a coffin. From the future. All metal and cold. If this doesn't go right, it will be her coffin. An no one will know. Oh, the people in the room, yes, but Bucky…

She's not exactly sure what Bucky will be told. Died in combat, maybe? Died during training, more likely. Or, maybe he just won't get an explanation.

She wishes she'd thought to write him a letter, just in case. Surely Dr. Erskine would have made sure it got to him. Or even Agent Carter.

"You ready?" Dr. Erskine asks.

She nods, wordless.

"Good. Take off your shirt, your tie, and your hat."

Her hands shake as she fumbles with what to take off first. She finally decides on her hat, handing everything off to a waiting nurse. It's cold in the lab and her skin prickles. She runs her hands over her arms.

"Dr. Erskine said to get into the pod after you're undressed," the nurse says.

She nods. Looks at Agent Carter, who's just looking at her through wide eyes, face pale.

Steve tries to smile at her, but she can't move her mouth. Instead, she nods, then walks over to the pod. Climbs inside.

"Comfortable?" Dr. Erskine asks her when he walks over.

"It's a little big." She still can't get her lips to work right, so she can't smile to reassure him that she's okay. "Save me any of that schnapps?"

He rolls his eyes. "Not as much as I should have. Sorry. Next time." He reaches inside and pulls some straps across her chest. Fastens them. "Mr. Stark? How are your levels?"

Steve lifts her head as Howard Stark walks over. "Levels at one hundred percent."

"Good."

Mr. Stark takes Dr. Erskine's place at the side of the pod. His eyes sweep over her as he says "We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we're as ready as we'll ever be." He puts his hands on the edge of the pod.

Something presses into her hand. She tightens it, feeling cold metal.

"Press that button before we open the pod," Stark says, his voice a whisper and lips barely moving. "It'll release the strap and should bind you down. We should get you covered before the rest see you."

"What…" but Stark is already walking back to his machines.

"Agent Carter, don't you think you would be more comfortable in the booth?"

Steve wants to protest as Agent Carter walks away. She wants her to stay, but, with one last look, Agent Carter retreats up the steps to the booth.

Dr. Erskine taps the microphone. Steve doesn't hear what he says. All she can here is the thrumming of her heart and the loud rasping of her breathing. She can feel a wheeze rattling in her chest. She wonders if she has time for a cigarette to calm it down.

There's a pinch on her arm.

"That wasn't so bad," she says as she feel the needle slide out.

"That was penicillin. Serum infusion beginning in five, four, three, two, one."

There's a hiss. Thick, cold liquid squeezes through her skin, spreading out with a heavy, dull ache in her muscles. Everything throbs: her arms, her stomach, her thighs, her back. She squeezes her eyes shut and then there's more, spreading, pushing through her and her eyes fly open and she can't breathe, she wants to scream as the sludge oozes through her…

The pod rises, lifting her to an upright position. Doors close over her.

"Steven? Can you hear me?"

"It's probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?"

And then the light starts. Her skin tingles. The light gets brighter and brighter and brighter and then…

Her muscles tear apart. Red-orange pain rips through her. It keeps going, body stretching, pulling, tearing. She hears cracking, purple flashes behind her eyes. Her calves rip apart, muscle and sinew gold and black.

She hears a noise that she doesn't identify as screaming until she hears Agent Carter's voice.

"Shut it down! Shut it down now!"

And then Dr. Erskine, pounding on the pod, calling her name, only she can't hear it because someone won't stop screaming and screaming…

"Turn it! off Kill it! Kill the reactor!"

That's when Steve realizes it's her, she's screaming, she's the one crying out in pain and the experiment is going to stop because of her. But she can take it, she can.

"No!" she shouts, swallowing back her cries. "Don't! I can do this!"

The light intensifies. Her eyes squeeze shut and it's overwhelming. Bright fireworks go off in her brain and she fights to hang onto consciousness as the tearing stops and the light rushes through her, filling her to the brim, trying to sweep her away.

And then, everything goes dark.

Is this death, she wonders. There's no light, no sound. But there. Something. Something soft in her ears. Like air.

"Darken the booth," she hears Dr. Erskine says. "Agent Carter, please. A moment alone. Just in case. All of you."

"Doctor," Colonel Phillips's voice echoes in her head.

"We agreed on this. I see first."

She hears a heavy clang of metal shutters. The clacking of feet on cement floor.

The doors crack open, light seeping in.

She barely remembers to press the button Stark had put in her hand earlier.

The strap around her chest tightens. She groans at the dull ache it sends through her chest.

"Steven. Steven?" There's a hand on her shoulder. One holding her hand.

"Here. Let's get it on before the vultures come to see what they've bought," she hears Stark say.

Hands pull her from the pod. Fabric unlike she's ever felt is slipped over her head. Her arms are pushed through armholes of a shirt. The fabric is tugged down her stomach. There's a pressure on her chest.

She forces her eyes open. The world spins around, disorienting. Everything is subtly off: the counters, the equipment, Dr. Erskine and Mr. Stark. She looks down at the top of their heads. It takes a moment for it to sink in: she's taller than they are. The arms wrapped around their shoulders for support are long and muscular. Her biceps bulge, tapering to lean elbows then widening out at her triceps again.

"I did it," she whispers. "You did it."

"Yes, Steven. You did very well," Dr. Erskine soothes, running his hand over her stomach.

"What's the shirt?" she asks. The exhaustion she felt on exiting the pod has abated somewhat. She doesn't need to lean quite so heavily on the others.

"It's a compression device. I just designed it. To help you maintain the illusion," Stark says. "Although, really, I think everything went to muscle. I don't think you have any body fat."

"Son of a bitch, you did it," Phillips says. "He's a little smaller than expected, but that's probably because he was such a runt to begin with!"

Steve looks up to see Colonel Phillips and all the political men streaming down the stairs. The booth they'd been in had metal shutters over it, being raised by an MP, and the nurses and doctor were coming in from the sides. They're all clapping each other on the back and pointing at her. She feels a little like a monkey in the zoo.

Agent Carter rushes up to her. She looks searchingly into Steve's face before she says, "How do you feel?"

A thousand words rush into her head. Bigger. Stronger. Ravenous. Exhausted. Sweaty. Exposed. But she makes the mistake of looking down into Agent Carter's eyes, and all she can manage is, "Taller."

"You look taller." She reaches out and touches Steve's stomach before pulling it away. A flush steals over her cheeks. Then Agent Carter grabs a towel from a nurse and helps sponge the sweat from Steve's face.

The pain from the initial transformation is gone. The ache in all her muscles is a faded memory of what she'd felt in the pod. Instead she tingles all over. There's a hyperawareness to life that wasn't there before. The air is full of rich smells that before would have only overwhelmed her into a headache. Now she can pick through each one: cigars and cologne, sweat and machine oil, perfume and soap. Agent Carter's hand on her arm raises prickles along her skin, like touching a live wire. She can feel the pressure of each fingertip, the faint tremors. When she looks back down at the agent, she can see the shadows play across her face, the flecks of gold in her deep brown eyes, a freckle right up next to her right ear. Everything is saturated in a vivid, rich Technicolor. Steve's been living in Kansas all her life without knowing it, and she's just stepped into Oz.

For a moment, she feels separate from the world. Everything is a little unreal, just a little different. There are so many people talking, their words combine into a muted roar that rises and falls. The flash of lights from the camera burst in her brain, not painfully, but there, over and over. There are people touching her, her shoulders, her back, her biceps, squeezing, feeling muscles and strength that weren't there just a short time ago.

The only things anchoring her to the world is the cold concrete beneath her bare feet and Agent Carter's hand on her wrist. Without those, Steve thinks she would be lost.

And then, reality intrudes in the worst, most painful way. The world explodes. Glass and steel rain around her. She grabs Agent Carter and the nurse and pulls them to the ground, using her body to shield them.

Gunshots.

Steve turns in time to see Dr. Erskine crumple to the ground. She runs towards him even as she sees Agent Carter returning fire out of the corner of her eye.

As she reaches Dr. Erskine, pieces of what happen start to come together. Her mind reconstructs what happened in the last few seconds: the man pulling out a cigarette lighter, flicking it with his thumb. The explosion. Him grabbing the last vial of serum.

But all this is secondary, being done in the back part of her mind. The rest of it is full of Dr. Erskine. Dr. Erskine, who's still alive, who's looking up at Steve with a fond, regretful expression on his face. Blood soaks his shirt and coat, too much, too fast, and Steve can't remember what she's supposed to do.

Her hands shake. She begs Dr. Erskine with her eyes to tell her what to do.

He shakes his head. Reaches up. Taps her on the chest twice.

And that's it. His body is empty, quite suddenly, of everything that had made him i_him_/i.

There's no time to mourn. Steve looks up to see Agent Carter chasing the murderer, disappearing from the lab.

Steve follows.

The ensuring chase is like nothing she's ever done before. She never stops to question what she can and can't physically do. In that, it's familiar. All her life, even knowing she was weaker and smaller than others, she always pushed herself. Fought and ran and took on things that were impossible.

The impossible, however, is now possible.

She runs through the streets of Brooklyn, a map of the city laid out in her mind. She knows these streets intimately, knows what alleyways and side streets will take her directly to the cab the murderer is on. She thinks nothing of leaping over a chain link fence or jumping on top of the taxi. Her objective is in mind: pursue and capture. Her body responds.

All told, it takes less than ten minutes from Dr. Erskine's death to the murderer's capture.

"Who the hell are you?" she demands once she's got him subdued.

"The first of many," he replies. "Cut off one head, two more will rise." He yanks out a tooth. Crushes it. "Hail Hydra!"

Steve watches in horror as the man foams at the mouth. He convulses a couple times before falling still.

She drops him. Straightens as she gazes at him, turning his words over in her mind. What did he mean? Why had he…

Her thoughts are derailed when she catches sight of her hands. Her forearms. Veins press against her damp skin, muscles bulging. Up to her biceps and shoulders. Strong and muscular. God, she'd just thrown a man like he weighed nothing. It'd been so easy, she hadn't even thought about it. Just grabbed and tossed him.

She hears people gathering behind her. She turns and looks at them as they look at her. She doesn't know what to say, so she keeps silent, letting the adrenaline drain from her, heart slowing and breathing returning to normal.

"Steve."

Steve blinks. Agent Carter stands in front of her, looking up. Steve doesn't think she'll ever get used to this, everyone being in the wrong place. Ever since she was born, the world towered over her. Now she looks down on it.

Agent Carter moves closer and puts her hand on her arm. "Are you all right? Did he…" Her eyes flick down to the dead man.

"He had some kind of capsule hidden in his tooth," Steve says. Her voice sounds hollow to her ears. "Probably cyanide or something. I don't know. The vial… It broke. I couldn't save it."

She shakes her head. "It's all right."

"Dr. Erskine…" Her voice breaks.

Agent Carter squeezes his arm. "It's all right, Steve." She sighs softly. "Come on."

* * *

><p>Steve's taken back to the lab. They give her a uniform, send her to an examination room and leave her alone. She can hear them, though, all standing downstairs discussing what will happen now.<p>

Now that Dr. Erskine is dead. Now that the serum is gone. Now that she's the only one.

She's numb and she knows this feeling. The last time she felt like this was when her mother died. It'd been a long battle, a long sickness during which her mother, Sarah, had stubbornly clung to life. Steve had been with her through the whole ordeal, trying to get Sarah to rest, to relax. Steve had taken over cooking and cleaning so her mother could sit and read and get strong, but Sarah had always found something that needed her attention. A sick kid down the hall. Mending that needed to be done. A patient without a family that needed someone to sit with them. Sarah had just kept working.

And then, she'd been gone. And Steve had been alone.

Just like now.

Alone in the room, Steve strips. The pants that had once swamped her figure seem like a child's clothes now. They'd been taken in just four short days ago so they'd fit her; now, all that stitching was ripped and destroyed. It was too hard to slide them off, so she ended up tearing them and leaving the material piled on the floor. The damp white shirt came next, and then the bindings from the pod.

Naked, Steve stared at her body.

There are muscles on her body that she never knew existed. Her stomach is etched with them, like a washboard. Her shoulders and back. Her thighs, her calves. Where once was only skin and bone, now is definition and meat. No one can claim that Dr. Erskine didn't do exactly what he'd set out to do: create strength from nothing.

There are worrying aspects.

Her breasts aren't large, but they're there. Without the binding, it's obvious she has them now. Where her waist used to be straight, now it cuts in. Her hips flare out. Even her hands, although still large and strong, have long tapered fingers and a feminine look to them.

_"He's a little smaller than expected, but that's probably because he was such a run to begin with!"_

Phillips had missed what was in front of him. Steve doesn't understand how that happened.

She dresses. Wraps the binding around her again, replaces the damp shirt. With everything bound down and her uniform on, the breasts aren't noticeable. Even her waist and hips don't look quite as womanly. But she can still see it.

The door opens. In the mirror, Steve sees Howard Stark slip in. He closes and locks the door, leaning against it.

"Mr. Stark." She turns.

"I only got a minute. Said I needed to go to the can. I wanted to give you this." He holds out a bag.

She takes it. Glances inside. There are more of the binding wraps and shirts. "Thank you." She looks up at him. Shakes her head. "This isn't going to work."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Mr. Stark… I mean look at me."

He shrugs. "Look. People believe what they want to see. And they want to see Dr. Erskine's amazing super soldier. Soldiers are male. Therefore, you are male." He shrugs again. "There isn't anything inherently feminine about you. No offense."

She shakes her head, because, really, why should she be offended? She's not a dame, not like that, even if her body is a woman's.

"Unless you strip down and show them, no one has any reason to think you are anything than what they were told. Just don't tell them any different."

"Where's Stark?" Phillips bellows downstairs.

Stark rolls his eyes and slips back out of the room.

Steve sets the bag down next to the discarded clothes. The door opens again and Agent Carter walks in with a nurse.

"We need to get blood," Agent Carter says.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

It takes about fifteen minutes. They pull vial after vial from her. She's fine the whole time. She remembers how this used to make her dizzy and sick. Most of the time, before they doctors had taken one vial from her, she'd passed out. They'd wake her up, get some juice in her, and sometime later go back and get more. Sometimes, getting enough blood to run a test and make sure she was okay would take hours. Now, she's able to give and keep on giving.

"Any hope of reproducing the program is locked in your genetic code," Agent Carter tells him. "But without Dr. Erskine, it will take years."

She wonders idly if they'll be able to tell her sex by looking at her blood. Then she decides she doesn't care. She already got the serum. What's the worst they could do to her now? "He deserved more than this."

"If it could work only once, he'd be proud it was you."

Startled, Steve looks over at Agent Carter.

She's looking at him with a sort of half smile. Her eyes are warm, face open. Steve gets the feeling she's trying to say something to him, something more than just about Dr. Erskine.

A thousand butterflies burst to life in her stomach. She can feel herself blushing. She hopes she doesn't look too much like an idiot.

"Colonel Phillips, my committee is demanding answers!" Senator Brandt shouts downstairs.

Agent Carter sighs. She turns and starts walking downstairs.

Steve follows. She listens to the conversation, with interest. Apparently Hydra meant something to them. And they knew about Schmidt.

Of course they knew about Schmidt, she scolds herself. Dr. Erskine had been their colleague. Of course he would have told them.

"Sir? If you're going after Schmidt, I want in."

Colonel Phillips gives her a long, scathing look full of disappointment and loathing. "You're and experiment. You're going to Alamogordo."

A research facility. "The serum worked."

"I asked for an army and all I got was you. You are not enough."

And wasn't that just the story of her life? She works and dreams and tries, but she's not enough. And now, even though she's so much more than she ever was, she could do so much, just as a solider, for Colonel Phillips, he doesn't want her.

All her dreams come crashing down on her. With all the money and time invested in her, all of Dr. Erskine's hope, all she can do is sit around in a lab letting people poke at her.

"With all due respect to the Colonel," Senator Brandt says, breaking into her despair. "I think we may be missing the point. I've seen you in action, Steve. More importantly, the country's seen it. Paper." He snaps his finger at his aid.

The aid walks over and holds up the newspaper.

"NAZIS IN NEW YORK. MYSTER MAN SAVES CHILD," the headline reads. And there's his pictures, peeking out through the window of the taxi cab door he'd used as a shield.

"Enlistment lines have been around the block since your picture hit the newsstands," Brandt continues. "You don't take a soldier, a symbol like that and hide him in a lab. Son, do you want to serve your country on the most important battlefield of the war?"

And, just like that, hope rises through the dark clouds in her mind. "Sir. That's all I want."

"Then congratulation. You just got promoted." He holds his hand out for Steve to shake.

She takes it. "Promoted?"

He nods. "You got anything? To pack?"

She thinks of the bag Stark had given her and nods. "I got a couple things upstairs."

"Go, and meet me back here in ten minutes. Double time, solider." He pats Steve on the shoulder before walking away.

"You know he's not taking you into battle, Steve," says Agent Carter. "He's a politician. He'll use you to get votes. Raise money."

"It's better than being a lab rat," Steve says. "And if I can get more soldiers... or more supplies for them, that's something, right? At least I'm doing something?"

Agent Carter studies her, eyes searching Steve's. A handful of heartbeats pass before she nods. "Just don't get caught up in his game. Politics is a dirty business."

"War is a dirty business."

She gives him a crooked smile. "Politics is worse." She puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes. "Stay safe."

Her heart in her throat, she nods. "You, too."

She runs her hand down Steve's arm, a light caress that sends shivers up and down her skin. Agent Carter takes Steve's hand. Squeezes it hard before turning and walking away.

Steve runs her hand over her eyes. She's tired of watching people she cares about walk away from her. But, that's war. And, with any luck, she'll join them soon. Somehow.


	10. Chapter 10

_Dear Bucky,_

_It's been a few weeks since I last wrote you, and I'm never sure what you got last. I got a letter from you a few weeks ago, but it was dated almost two months back. I have no idea if you're getting any of my letters. So much has changed for me. So much about me has changed and it hurts that you're not here. That you don't know._

_At the risk of repeating myself, I got into the Army. I volunteered to do an experiment to make me stronger and bigger. It worked. And, now I'm touring the states as Captain America, the best war bonds spokesman in the world._

_Everyone is really nice. The girls are all knockouts. I love watching them rehearse, because they're all really good at what they do. And because they're nice to look at. When we have downtime (and the theater is even worse with the "hurry up and wait" stuff than the Army is), I draw them. Dancing, talking, portraits. Just little doodles mostly, but sometimes more detailed stuff. A few of the girls offered to buy a picture off me so they could send it to their fellas overseas. Not that I would ever make them pay. I've included a few sketches for you. And a poster from our last show. I figured you could use the laugh. If I could find a way to send you one of the films I did, I would, but maybe they'll show one of them some night when you've got a moment of peace or something. I know: me in the pictures. Can you believe it? I can't, and I'm doing them. _

_I feel almost as useless here as I did back home. Not quite as much, since I am doing something. The girls keep reminding me that I'm giving people hope. And I can see that. Especially on the faces of the little kids. The ones who've got dad and brothers and uncles overseas, they look at me like I'm their hero. A few of them ask me to watch out for their loved ones overseas. It'd be cruel to tell them I've never been over there. That if Colonel Phillips has his way, I'll never see any action._

_I don't get it. The serum worked. I'm bigger and faster and stronger than anyone else. Yes, I'm only one guy, but isn't one more man facing the Nazis better than nothing?_

_I hope this letter finds you. Stay safe._

_Yours, Steve_

* * *

><p>"Hey, look, it's the man with the plan."<p>

Steve looks up from her sketchbook. "Hi, Evie."

The chorus girl nudges him with her leg. "Move over."

Steve obliges, scooting over on the top stair in back of the theater, allowing Evie to sit next to her.

"Are you drawing or writing a letter?" Evie asks, pulling out her cigarette case.

"Both." She shows Evie the sketchbook. It's of the girls standing backstage in small groups, gossiping and stretching while waiting for places to be called. A handful of months ago, it had been a foreign world back there, full of magic and newness. Now, it was so familiar Steve could navigate a backstage like the back alleys of Brooklyn.

"That's amazing." She leans over Steve's shoulder, resting her cheek against it. "There's me! You made me look so pretty."

"I will never understand why any of you think you don't always look amazing. You're all so beautiful."

"You're so sweet, Steve." She kisses her on the cheek, then pulls back to lite her cigarette. "So, who's the letter to? You leave a dame back in New York that you haven't told us about?"

"Even if I did, I still wouldn't be allowed to tell you. Senator Brandt insists that I maintain an aura of mystery."

Evie giggles. "Has he met you? You're the least mysterious man I've ever met."

"I wear a mask. No one knows my name. Except, you know, everyone who works on the show. But I mean, you know. The public. They don't know who I am." She sighs and looks down at the sketchpad. Starts adding shadows.

"They know you're strong and good. That you'd do anything for your country. They know you're a hero."

"I haven't done anything to be a hero," she says. "It's just a show."

Evie sighs. She puts her arm around Steve's shoulder. "Well, you're a hero to us. We've been on the road for months and you haven't made a pass at any of us. You haven't leered, you haven't joined in on the catcalling with the other guys…"

"Who's doing that? I'll…"

"You stopped the catcalling when you heard about it," Evie continues like Steve hadn't said anything. "You even acted like a perfect gentleman when Dottie invited you to her room."

Her cheeks burn. "I didn't realize…"

"We know. And it's adorable." She sits up again, letting her arm drop. "Who are you writing to?"

"My best friend. Bucky. He's overseas with the 107th."

Evie puts her cigarette in her mouth. Inhales and holds the smoke. "My husband's in the Navy. On the USS-Maryland. He was at Pearl Harbor and survived, but every day, I can't help wondering if this will be the day I get that telegram." She taps her cigarette against her shoe. "I haven't gotten anything from him in a while. Not a letter, not anything." She puts the cigarette in her mouth again.

"Me neither," Steve says. "Well. No, I have. A few weeks ago. But he mailed it months ago. Before we started tour." She sighs. "I don't know if my letters are really making it to him."

"What do you mean?"

She swallows. "I feel like, maybe, my letters are being taken. And maybe so are his."

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't know." She presses her pencil against the sketchpad until the tip breaks. "It took three weeks before Brandt allowed me to talk to any of you girls. And I was told over and over again not to reveal too much about myself. To keep myself separate. That I had to maintain the illusion of Captain America as much as I could. Twenty-four, seven, if possible."

"That's not possible. I mean, you are Captain America. I don't know why they don't let go over and fight, but there is no doubt in my mind that you are everything they say you are. But you have be a person, too." She rubbed his arm. "So. What are your secrets? Since you're dying to let them out."

Steve closes her eyes and takes a long, deep breath. "Evie, I'd love to tell you. But I'm government property."

"Oh, government property? That sounds intriguing. Especially since I'm fairly sure that a person can't be property. This isn't the eighteen hundreds."

"No, I know. I just agreed… I mean, before… and then…"

The stage door opens. Martin, Brandt's assistant and Steve's personal shadow since the tour started, sticks his head out. "Steve, get your stuff together. You too, Evie. Brandt just called. We're taking the show overseas to perform for the troops."

Steve gapes at him a moment. "You serious?"

"Why would I joke about something like this? It's not even funny. Yes, I'm serious. We need to be ready to leave in an hour. Move it!" He disappears back into the theater, door closing behind him.

Evie's grinning. "This is great! We're finally going over there. I've always wanted to do shows for the troops. Hey." She pokes him in the side. "Maybe we'll see your friend while we're there."

Steve rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Yeah," she says, smiling lopsidedly. "Maybe."

Evie finishes off her cigarette and tosses it away. "I gotta go tell the girls. I gotta go pack!" She leaps to her feet. "Well come on, Star Spangled Man. Get your on your feet and move! We're taking the show on the road!"

* * *

><p>Really, when Steve is booed off the stage and pelted with fruit, she isn't surprised. Well, surprised, because she still somehow expects people to act with dignity, and being flashed by someone's unattractive rear end isn't what she calls dignified, but beyond that, it's not a real shock. Like she said to Evie, she hasn't done anything yet. Not like these guys. There's no reason for them to respect her.<p>

She's not even surprised to recognize Gilmore Hodge's voice and sneering face out there. Of all the army bases in all the world, right?

The second show is cancelled because it starts pouring rain. Steve thanks the weather gods and hunkers down next to the stage. He isn't sure where the girls have gone. Probably to the mess hall or common areas or where ever the troops were. About a quarter of the girls were married. A lot of the others had sweethearts and fiancées fighting. All of them, however, had spent the last hundred miles of the journey giggling and blushing like they were the ones that hadn't seen a member of the opposite sex in forever.

"There's just something about a man in uniform," Dottie had sighed as the bus rolled onto base. She'd had her face almost pressed against the window as she gazed at the bedraggled men milling about.

She doesn't begrudge the girls the attention they were getting. Better them than her. They deserve having people fawning over them. They're beautiful and talented and some of the strongest people Steve knows. They deserve to have a little fun.

She just wishes she could prove that she could be something, too. Not for the attention. Just, because, well, otherwise, what had Erskine's hard work been for?

"Hello, Steve."

Her heart leaps at the voice. She turns to see Agent Carter, standing on the stage behind her as she removes her slicker.

"Hi."

She stands over Steve for the longest moment that's ever passed, just looking at her. Steve just stares, wondering how she managed to look to put together, so beautiful in such a dreary place.

Then she realizes it's been about a hundred years since anyone's spoken. She shakes her head. "What are you doing here?"

That breaks the spell. Agent Carter sits next to her and says, "Officially, I'm not here at all." She glances at the sketchbook, then back at Steve. "That was quite a performance."

Her face burns. She looks away, stomach heavy with shame. "Yeah. I had to improvise a little bit. The crows I'm used to are usually more, uh. Twelve." She feels like an idiot as she says it. Kids worshiped her. Kids thought she was something special. They ate up every bit of the show. Who on earth thought that a bunch of battle weary men would find her inspiring?

Agent Carter digs the knife in, saying sharply, "I understand you're 'America's New Hope.'"

Her voice isn't kind. She's angry, and Steve doesn't blame her. She'd warned Steve, all those months ago, a lifetime ago. She'd told Steve that Senator Brandt would turn her into a propaganda machine. And he had.

_I'm not playing the game, though,_ she wants to protest. _I get that I'm just a tool. But at least…_. "Bond sales take a ten percent bump in every state I visit," she says. It's rote. She says it to the newspapers and for news clips. It doesn't mean anything; it's just a statistic that she's been trained to rattle off.

"Is that Senator Brandt I hear?"

She looks away, a surge of frustrated anger making her hot. Because she's had this conversation with everyone. With Senator Brant and Martin. With Dottie, that night in her room. With Evie and with Bucky, over and over again in her letters. But no one will listen to her. They just soothe away her fears, her devastation, telling her that she's bringing people hope and she's doing so well and no one will admit to her that it's all meaningless!

And now Agent Carter…

"At least he's got me doing this," she spits out, turning to the agent. She can't quite look at her. "Phillips would've had me stuck in some lab."

"And these are your only two options," Agent Carter retorts. "A lab rat or dancing monkey?" She lets her words sink in before saying, "You were meant for more than this, you know."

_Yes, yes, I know!_ she wants to say. She turns to say it, to pour her heart out to Agent Carter, to tell her that she's been trying to get here, but no one will let her.

Agent Carter is looking at her. She listening. Really listening, like only her mom and Bucky, and later Dr. Erskine have ever listened. Like what she says and thinks really matters. Like it's important.

Her words die in her throat. She looks away.

"What is it?" Agent Carter asks gently.

She swallows. She doesn't know how to say this, not exactly. Because the serum and being a super soldier who's not allowed to serve as a soldier is only part of it.

The other part goes back so, so long ago. Back when she was little and miserable all the time. Back when she wore dresses and had long hair and no girls her age to play with. When the older girls on the block had treated her like their doll and never listened to her when she told them to stop putting ribbons in her hair and, no, she didn't want to play tea and, no, she wasn't gonna be their baby. She wanted to climb trees and play ball and soldier and cops and robbers. It wasn't just being sick all the time. That part was miserable, but just trying to fit in was the worst.

The week after they'd gotten news about her father's death had been a never ending parade of neighbors and friends coming to offer condolences. Steve had been sick with a fever and bad cough for most of it, but she remembered one afternoon when she'd felt well enough to be in the living room with the adults. One woman had sat, stroking her hair, while exchanging soft words with the other ladies.

Then she'd said, "Poor little girl. Growing up without a daddy. What are you ever going to do?" before kissing Steve on the head.

Steve had sat up and said, "I'm going be a solider like my daddy."

The ladies all laughed. The one sitting next to Steve said, "Honey, girls don't grow up to be soldiers." And then, because adults seem to think that if they aren't talking to children, they can't be heard, she'd said, "This little one will be lucky to grow to be a woman as it is."

It hadn't been until that moment Steve realized she'd have to be a grown-up woman someday. She'd started crying right there and didn't stop until long after the guests had left and she'd been put to bed.

That night, Steve had crept out of her room. She'd gotten her mother's sewing shears, gone to the bathroom, and hacked off her hair.

Her mother found her there in the morning, back pressed against the wall.

"Honey, what's wrong?" she'd asked, kneeling next to her.

"I don't want be a woman when I grow up," Steve whispered. "I want to be a soldier like daddy."

Her mother had stroked Steve's mangled hair. "You can be a soldier if you want."

She'd shaken her head. "No. No one will let me."

Her mother had been silent for a long time before she said, "Stevie. Do you want to be a boy?"

Steve had nodded. "Yes."

"Well. All right, then. We'll figure something out."

They had. And if it hadn't been easy, it'd been worth it. Even when Steve had still spent more of her childhood sick and when she wasn't, she was always the solider killed first, always the robber who was caught before the others and never hit a home run in her life. It was worth it even when none of the girls ever looked at her and most of the boys made fun of her. It was even worth it when she'd come to the realization that she wasn't actually a boy, she just wanted to be treated like one, dress like one, and live as one. It was a struggle, but it was worth it.

Because, just by saying she was a boy, she was able to walk through doors she never would have otherwise. Only now, this one was slammed in her face.

"You know," she says finally, "for the longest time, I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines, serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted, and I'm wearing tights."

Just then, an ambulance comes racing up to the medical tent behind the stage. Steve and Agent Carter watch as a soldier is pulled out from the back, laid on a stretcher.

She shakes her head. Maybe, if she'd been there, she could have stopped at least one man from getting hurt.

"They look like they've been through hell."

"These men more than most," Agent Carter responds. At Steve looks, she says, "Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him, fifty came back. Your audience contained was what was left of the 107th. The rest were killed or captured."

The world drops out from beneath her with a suddenness that makes her head spin. "The 107th?"

"What?"

She's up and running. "Come on!" Heart pounds in her ears, the world blurs around her. Bucky seems to hang right in front of her face, just ahead of her, achingly out of reach.

Steve had briefly seen Phillips when the bus had unloaded hours ago, but she'd had no desire to face him. Now, she marches up to his desk, hands shaking.

"Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man with a plan," Phillips mocks. "What is your plan today?"

"I need the casualty list from Azzano."

"You don't get to give me orders, son."

"I just need one name." She tries to keep her voice steady. "Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th."

Phillips looks to Agent Carter. "You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won't enjoy."

Steve clenches her fist to stop from strangling him. Why is he stalling? "Please, tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R…"

"I can spell." Phillips' face shifts. Suddenly, he's not the man who's doubted Steve at every turn. He's a seasoned veteran who's seen too many men fall before him. "I've sighed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count." He rises, taking his clipboard with him. Turns his back to Steve. "But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry."

He sounds sorry. He's destroyed Steve's world with six words, but he's sorry.

For a moment, she can't breathe. Can't think. Bucky. Her best friend, her brother. Her companion and roommate and her whole world. The only one in the world who knows her, the only person she knows better than she does herself. She can't…

_ "The rest were captured or killed."_

Captured. Bucky had to be one of the ones that was captured. Because they were part of each other. Closer than just two friends. They were soul mates. If Bucky was dead, Steve would know.

She would know.

"What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?"

"Yeah, it's called winning the war."

"But if you know where they are, why don't you at least…"

"It's thirty miles behind the lines through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We'd lose more men than we'd save. But I don't expect you to understand that because you're a chorus girl."

It doesn't sting the way Phillips intended, because those chorus girls are a thousand times the men Phillips was. And so was she. "I think I understand just fine."

"Well then, understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you've got someplace to be in thirty minutes." Phillips walks away, dismissing Steve from his tent and his mind.

Steve stares at the map in front of her, memorizing it. Memorizing this map like the countless ones she'd studied and memorized of the battles her father had fought. Of wars, ancient and modern, foreign and domestic. She didn't even need to stare at it as long as she did, because she'd long ago trained herself to know them at a glance, but she can't take that chance right now. She can't gamble. Not with Bucky's life.

"Yes, sir," she says when she's sure she has everything etched in her mind. "I do."


	11. Chapter 11

"Let me get this straight," Howard Stark says after Agent Carter has finished explaining what they need. "You want me to fly you into enemy territory, drop an untested soldier turned USO performer into said territory to single handedly rescue a bunch of prisoners of war who may or may not be already dead, and all against orders."

"Technically, Colonel Phillips didn't order me not to go rescue them," Steve says. "I mean… you know. Technically."

Stark looks at her, eyebrows raised. "Technically."

She forces herself to meet his eyes without blushing.

He laughs, a smile breaking out over his face. "Sounds like fun. Agent Carter, why don't you step inside my plane while the good captain helps me get her ready?"

"Oh, but I don't know anything…"

Stark's hand clamps around her wrist and tugs. "Come on, Captain. At least help me put my tools back in the box." He leads her to the toolbox open underneath the right wing of the plane.

"Is the plane all right? I mean…"

"She's fine. I was just tuning her up," Stark says, gently wiping each tool down before placing it in the box. "You know this is a suicide mission, right?" he asks, sotto voce. "If you're lucky."

"If I'm lucky?"

He looks up. "Do you understand what will happen if you're captured?"

It takes her a second to figure out what he's saying. She's not used to people knowing about her.

"Of course I know."

He raises his eyebrow. "Schmidt knows about the serum. What with your films and everything, he's got to know about you. If you get caught…"

"I won't get caught."

"One man against an entire installation? Do you know the odds?"

"Like you said, it's a suicide mission."

"If you're lucky."

She swallows. "Then let's hope I'm lucky."

Stark studies her, before nodding. "All right then." He puts the last tool in his toolbox and rises. "Let's not delay any longer."

It takes too long for them to get into the air. Steve's stomach churns the entire time, certain that they are about to get caught. She waits in the cargo hold while Stark starts the plane, certain that Phillips is going to come roaring up,a hundred MPs trailing him, ready to drag her off to the nearest research facility to be buried forever.

She doesn't breathe until they're in the air and heading to where they need to be. Instead, she focuses on getting her gear together and listening to Agent Carter brief her.

"The Hydra camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges. It's a factory of some kind."

"We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep," says Stark.

"Just get me as close as you can. You two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land."

"And you won't?"

"Where I'm going, if anybody yells at me, I can just shoot them." And doesn't that thought make her stomach do a funny turn? She's barely trained to use a gun and can only hope the serum gave her super aim along with everything else. If not, this was going to be a short mission.

It was easier to be worried about hitting what she aims at than the reality of what she'll be doing. Killing people. Bad guys, yes. Bullies, yes. But she's never done it. She hopes she doesn't lose her nerve.

"They will undoubtedly shoot back," Peggy points out, as if Steve didn't need yet another thing to worry about.

She taps her fist on the shield she'd brought along with her. "Well, let's hope it's good for something."

"Agent Carter," Stark interrupts. "If we're not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue."

Agent Carter stiffens slightly, then shoots a look at Steve. There's a hesitant, almost guilty expression on her face, like she thinks she knows what Steve is thinking.

Until that look, though, Steve just thought Stark was offering up a cover for taking the plane and the unauthorized trip. Yeah, Steve would still be gone, but Stark could always claim the main impetus behind the flight was to get something exotic. That's what eccentric millionaires did, right?

But Agent Carter looks… and, God, Steve hopes that Stark isn't the kind of leach that would make her pay for the flight with…

Agent Carter looks away, pretty much confirming Steve's worse thoughts. She'd trusted Stark, trusted him with her secret. He'd seemed like a stand-up guy, but now…

"Stark is the best civilian pilot I've ever seen," Agent Carter says earnestly. "He's made enough to brave this airspace. We're lucky to have him." She meets his eyes, looking like she's begging for him to understand.

Her stomach sinks in a different way. Because, no, of course it wouldn't be about payment. Agent Carter isn't that kind of girl. But she's strong and beautiful and perfect. A man, any man, would be lucky to have her. Stark's handsome and brilliant, charismatic and rich… Of course Agent Carter would be drawn to someone like that. "So, are you…" She stops and tries again. "Do you…" She ask the question. She doesn't know how to ask if Agent Carter is Stark's girl, or if it's just a convenience thing or what.

But Agent Carter is looking like she doesn't understand the questions, so Steve fumbles around with her words until finally saying, "Fondue?"

Agent Carter rolls her eyes. "This is your transponder," she says, holding it up. Her tone is all business again, the warmth gone. "Activate it when you're ready, and the signal will lead us straight to you."

"You sure this thing works?" Steve asks, taking the little box from Agent Carter. She doesn't mean it as a dig, really, but it comes out a little sharper than she'd intended it to.

"It's been tested more than you, pal," Stark's replies. He tosses back a little smirk, like he knows what she's thinking about him and Agent Carter and knows that she doesn't like it.

_Calm down_, she orders herself. _We're all on the same side, here_.

The plane rocks suddenly, missiles exploding outside. Agent Carter has to grab onto the side of the plane to steady herself, bright flashes exploding behind her head, much, much too close.

There's no way they're going to make it through this safely. Even if they're not shot down, the plane's going to be damaged. And what if…

She gets to her feet and slides open the jump door.

"Get back here!" Agent Carter shouts, reading Steve's mind. "We're taking you all the way in!"

She checks to make sure the parachute is secured. "As soon as I'm clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!" The ground is so very far away. Dark. She can't see it clearly. But her heartbeat is steady and her mind is clear. She can do this.

"You can't give me orders!" Agent Carter leans down next to him, shaking her head.

"The hell I can't! I'm a captain." Before she can answer her, she pushes herself out of the plane.

For the first time in his life, she gets it. Gets why Bucky always insists on riding the Cyclone a million times when they go to Coney Island. Gets why there's a high dive at the pool and why people climb mountains.

Falling through the air, feeling the wind rush around her, fill her senses… It's exhilarating. Even with the explosions and her head spinning and the rush of adrenaline that takes her breath, it's wonderful. She feels alive.

It's over all too soon. The moment she hits the ground, the elation of the leap slides away and the reality of what she's doing takes over.

She's in a quiet section of the wood, nothing around. After taking a moment to get her bearings, she takes off at a jog. If she's right, the road should be just over the rise.

She hears the rumbling of the truck engines before she sees them. Ducking lower, she runs up the last hill. At the crest, she sees the long line. Putting on a burst of speed, she catches up with them.

As she runs, she spares a moment's thought to marvel at how she doesn't need to think about what her body is doing at every second. She doesn't have to worry if her increased heart rate will lead to chest pains, if her breathing's elevated because of activity or because she's verging on a panic attack. Every thought and worry and concern she's lived with her whole life is gone. She finally has a body that can do what she needs it to do.

Getting into the compound is almost too easy. Soldiers are taking out with one punch. Men are thrown onto the road without having to strain. She slips through the shadows, avoiding floodlights, as easily as a wraith.

She doesn't let her guard down, even with the ease. She's one man against an entire installation. She can't afford to get cocky.

It's simple enough to slip inside the factory. The entrance she finds only has one guard. She begins to suspect that while they're prepared for an army to march up to the gates, they're less prepared for one man sticking to the shadows.

Well. One person who can knock out a full grown man with a single punch.

The main floor is filled with bombs and weapons. Weapons of a kind she's never seen before. She comes to an unguarded table covered with some kind of power packs that glowed blue. She takes one and slips it into her pocket. If Hydra has advanced technology, maybe the SSR can figure out what it is so the Allies can utilize it, too.

If only the prisoners were as easy to find. There's no sign that says "This way to Prisoners of War" anywhere.

She finds the cells by blind luck. When she glances around the corner, her breath catches at her throat at what she sees. There are so many men crammed into circular cells. The bars stretch from floor to ceiling, a single guard walking over the heads of the prisoners trapped below.

The guard goes down as easily as the others. She digs for the keys, looking frantically around for Bucky. Her stomach sinks. He's not there.

"Who are you supposed to be?" a solider asks.

"I'm Captain America," she answers. She stands, still looking around. Bucky should have said something already.

"I beg your pardon?" a man with a crisp English accent says.

Steve blushes and doesn't say anything. She gets the lock opened and the doors are thrown open. Soldiers start streaming out.

Still no Bucky.

"Is there anybody else?" she asks, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. "I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes."

It's the British man who answers. "There's an isolation ward in the factory, but no one's ever come back from it."

Her stomach sinks. She nods. "All right." She raises her voice so the others can here. "The tree line is northwest, eighty yards past the gate. Get out fast and give 'em hell. I'll meet you out past the gate with anybody else I find."

She begins walking faster, pushing past the other soldiers.

"Wait. You know what you're doing?" a black soldier asks. He's standing with the others who'd been in his cell: the British man, the Asian man who'd said he was from Fresno, the one in the bowler, and a short, balding dark haired man. They're all looking at Steve like they're itching to fight, just waiting for the orders to go with her.

But this is a one-man job, and there are over a hundred others that needed to be led out. These were obviously the men to do that.

"Sure," she answers blithely. "I knocked out Adolph Hitler over two hundred times." And, before they can ask her what she means, she turns and rushes off.

Isolation ward. That doesn't sound good. What if they were torturing Bucky? Why else would they need to pull him apart from the others? What if…

But he's still alive. That conviction hasn't left Steve, not even for an instant. Even when she'd looked over the faces of the prisoners and not seen the familiar one of her best friend, she hadn't lost hope. Bucky's still alive.

She's made it back to the main floor when the alarm goes off. Doors fly open and soldiers pour onto the gangplanks, heading outside.

They see her and attack. Instinct takes over, all those years of back alley fighting finally becoming of use. She deflects and kicks and knocks people out. She anticipates their moves so easily. She's able to disarm before they're even ready to shoot. It's easy and smooth and natural. She's never danced, but some part of her things that, maybe, this is how it might feel.

Something explodes. A bomb crashes through a wall, setting something on fire. All around her is chaos. The dull thunder of explosions outside. The rat-a-tat of gunfire. The vibrations up her arm when she strikes. But it's all far away from her. She's in a bubble, moving fast. Or maybe time has slowed and she glides seamlessly through, making her way to Bucky.

She fights through the mass of soldiers streaming to get outside. Penetrates deeper into the factory, the sounds of fighting fading away to distant thunder. This far in, there's no one. Nothing.

She keeps going. And then, she turns the corner and see the man.

He's short and portly. Dressed in a suit, bow tie, and hat. He's carrying a briefcase and has an overcoat draped over his arm. He looks so absurdly normal that Steve has to stop and stare.

The man stares back. He looks frozen, his body stiff, eyes wide behind round spectacles.

A loud thundering boom shakes the wall. It breaks the moment of unreality. The man shakes himself out of his stupor and runs. Steve starts to go after him when she hears it.

Hears him.

"Sergeant. Three two five five seven. James Buchanan."

"Bucky!"

He's chained to a metal slab, like something out of a horror novel. Chains stretched across his chest and his thighs, heavy and binding. And Bucky, just lying there, eyes open, but staring sightlessly at the ceiling, glazed and exhausted.

"Oh, my God," she breaths. She stumbles to the slab. Winces as she looks down at him, because, God in Heaven, the chains are digging into Bucky's arms and legs. It's so tight, they've got to be bruising him, hurting him so badly.

She finds the winch holding the chain. Breaks it.

"Bucky," she says, pulling the chains off him. "Bucky, it's me."

For a long, horrible heartbeat, there's nothing. No response, no change.

Then, Bucky's eyes creep back from infinity.

"Is that…"

"It's Steve."

"Steve?" He smiles. Eyes on her face like she's the only thing in the world.

"Come on." She helps him sit up, pulls him up, and…

His mouth connects with hers. Sloppy, loose, like he's half asleep. Bucky kisses her before slumping forward, head landing on her shoulder.

"Wanted to do that once before…" He trails off. Huffs a laugh. "God, Stevie, I wish…"

He doesn't believe she's there. He thinks…

Blushing furiously, Steve says, "I'm here, Bucky." She runs her fingers through his hair. Caresses the nape of his neck. "I'm really here. It's not a dream. And we gotta go. Now." She pushes him up.

Bucky pulls back. Frowns at her. "Stevie?"

"Yeah." She smiles tentatively. "Yeah, it's me. Come on." She wraps her arms around his waist. Hauls him from the slab and helps him to his feet.

Once he's steady, Steve lets go and steps back. Looks over Bucky, unable to stop smiling. "I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were smaller."

Something explodes outside. The sharp retort of gunfire sounds.

She yanks her gun from her belt. Looks around, eyes lighting on a map on the far wall. Memorizes it, the layout, the locations of the Hydra flags.

"Come on. We have to go."

Bucky takes a step so wobbly and off balance, Steve immediately thinks of that little animated deer from the Disney film.

"Don't say it," Bucky says, seeing her face. "Help me."

"I wasn't going to say anything." She wraps her arm around his waist and starts moving, taking most of his weight. He's so light in her arms. She wonders if this is how she used to feel to him.

"What happened to you?" Bucky asks.

"I joined the Army."

"Very funny."

"I… there was a doctor. He had serum to make people stronger. They needed a test subject and I volunteered."

Bucky stumbles.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He unropes his arm from around her shoulder. Pushes her away. "I think I'm okay. Let's go." He starts stumbling down the darkened hall, bracing himself the wall. "So, a mad scientist says he wants to do an experiment and you volunteer."

"He wasn't a mad scientist."

Bucky snorts. "Did it hurt?"

"A little," she lies, because it's not like she wants to explain the excruciating pain of being ripped apart to anyone, much less her best friend who'd just been tortured.

"Is this permanent?"

Her stomach tightens. What if it wasn't? What if something happened and she was forced back to how she was before? Into that body that didn't fit, that had never fit, not the way this one did?

She doesn't want to think about it.

"So far."

Bucky's panting by the time they make it into the main hanger. He stops, leaning against the door jamb, gasping.

The room explodes. The nearest weapons go up in flame, shooting licks of flame. The first explosion had hardly finished when the next one went off. And another.

The entire lower level was nothing but fire, blocking their escape.

"Up!" Steve orders, pushing Bucky to the stairs leading to the roof.

Bucky stumbles, but goes. Steve has to keep catching him, prodding him up the stairs, keeping him moving. The heat from the fire is intense and she feels sweat gathering under her jacket. It's worse for Bucky, who's already got beads rolling down his face, dampening his hair.

"Almost there," she says. They make up a final flight of stairs. Steve grabs Bucky by the wrist, pointing to a nearby walkway across the fire pit. They start moving to it when she sees the two figures already on the other side.

"Captain America!" the tall one in a black leather coat says. "How exciting!" He strides away from the portly man she'd seen in the hall before, eyes on her.

Her skin feels like electricity is crackling over every inch. Every inch of her is aware of the man standing across the room from her. She finds herself moving towards him without realizing she's moved.

"I am a great fan of your films!"

Johan Schmidt. She knows exactly who this is, without having seen a picture or even been given a description. The serum went wrong. Good becomes great. Bad, worse.

This man…

A rage unlike any she's ever known bubbles up in her. She's never been one to carry a grudge. The bullies are just bullies, not worth losing sleep over. Her worst enemy has always been herself, her broken body.

But this… but him…

She loathes him. To her very core. He's wrong on every level, and she can feel it. See it. See how he carries himself, how easy in his body he is. The strength. The smooth, gliding movements. The control.

Just like her.

It makes her sick.

"So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement," Schmidt says—not sneering, not even arrogantly, just very matter of fact-eyes raking over her, "but still, impressive."

Her hands tremble, fury exploding. She clenches her fist and punches him.

It lands solidly, throwing Schmidt off balance.

"You got no idea," she says, managing to keep her voice even.

He rubs his jaw. Straightens. His face looks strange, the skin beneath one of his eyes drooping just a bit, red and bloody.

"Haven't I?"

Schmidt moves so quickly, Steve barely manages to get her shield up in time. His fist punches into the metal, leaving a dent. She goes for her gun, lowering her shield, but Schmidt swings again. This time he knocks Steve off her feet. She loses her gun when she falls, head banging against the metal grating of the bridge.

She looks up as Schmidt stalks towards her. Waits, very still, for him to get close enough.

Just before she kicks him, something in his face changes. The anger is washed away by… astonishment.

Then Steve kicks up off the bridge. Her feet connect with his chest, and she knocks him back several feet.

They both pull themselves up just as the bridge begins to retract. Bucky grabs Steve by the belt before she pitches forward into the flames below, pulling her back.

On the other side of the divide, Schmidt glares at her. "No matter what Erskine said, I was his greatest success." He reaches up and peels his face off, revealing the monster underneath.

Oh God.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky says, his hand gripping her belt.

"You are deluding yourself, Captain!" the monster shouts. "You pretend simple solider, but in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind." He begins walking to the elevator, where the other man waits for him. "Unlike you, I embrace it proudly! Without fear!"

"Then how come you're running?" Steve retorts, wanting to draw him back. Wanting to finish this now.

Schmidt gets into the elevator. Pushes a button. "How fitting that Erskine should choose a woman as his second test. When I win, Captain, the race we'll create…"

Bucky screams, pushing, trying to get past Steve at Schmidt. Steve has to turn her concentration away from Schmidt to keep Bucky, strengthened by his anger, from propelling them both off the walkway.

Schmidt's laugh echoes as the doors close.

More and more explosive go off below, sending flames up to their level. Steve casts around, looking for escape.

The roof. "Come on, let's go. Up!" She pushes Bucky towards the stairs, faster and faster, until they make it a strut bracing the building.

The flames are higher by this time. Too high. But they have no choice but to cross the pit, and it has to be now.

"Let's go. One at a time." She helps Bucky climb over the railing. Holds her breath as he shakily finds his footing on the too-narrow strut holding the building together. She's not sure what's left below to explode, but it doesn't stop, plums of ash and fiery embers throwing themselves into the air, circling Bucky as he tightropes across.

She bites hard on her tongue when a huge concussion causes the strut to jerk downwards. She can barely keep the scream in, because if she's come this far, only to lose Bucky…

And then he's across. He's pulling himself to safety—he's _safe_, only he's not leaving. He's standing there, looking around for something, shouting, "Gotta be a rope or something!"

He's waiting for her. Of course, he is, that stupid…

"Just go! Get out of here!"

"No! Not without you!" He wraps his fingers around the railing, knuckles white.

He won't leave. He's not going to leave her. He'll stay here and die for her when she's come here to save him.

And Steve, of course, can't let him die.

"Hell."

There's no time to look for a rope or a chain long enough. The whole building's about to come down around them.

Only one option.

She bends back the broken section of railing. Starts backing up.

She can hear Bucky's thoughts as clear as day in her head. _What the hell do you think you're doing, Stevie! You almost broke your ankle trying to jump over a puddle last year! You got a second degree burn from dropping oatmeal on your hand. Why aren't you at home, where you're supposed to be, where I left you?_

She shoots him a desperate look. _I couldn't let you leave me behind_. Then, take a deep breath, she leaps.

* * *

><p>As soon as her feet touch down, Bucky grabs her. Pulls her to him, heart hammering wildly. He's shaking, he can't breathe. He knots his hands in her jacket, squeezing.<p>

"Bucky. Bucky. We gotta go. Come on, we need to get out of here."

He can't move. His face is pressed against her neck, mouth on her skin, and he can taste her. Salty and warm and alive and _here_.

The next explosion knocks Steve off her feet. Well, almost. She catches them before they fall.

Bucky tears himself away. Grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together. "Let's get out of here."

Stevie rolls her eyes. Squeezes his hand. "Good idea. Let's go."


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky's hand in hers is warm and alive. She can feel his heart beating in it and the sweat dampening his skin. She can't stop from squeezing it every few steps, just to feel him squeeze back and reassure her that he's there.

"Captain!"

Steve looks towards the call. It's a mess outside, trucks overturned, fires burning everywhere, buildings half collapsed. She's been leading Bucky through the wreckage towards the tree line, heart sinking at the evidence that the others might not have made it out okay.

But there they were. Dozens of them, almost as many as had been packed down in the cells, mustered under the trees. Some are patrolling, carrying weapons. Some are repairing trucks, half buried in the engines, grease coating their faces, or underneath, changing out tires. There are wounded, of course, lying against trees or propped against each other. Some are still being tended to, given aid, but most seem to be resting and waiting.

They've got a tank. Sitting on it like a king on a hill is one of the men Steve had talked to below. The one with the heavy mustache and bowler. He's waving at Steve with a big smile.

"I know that guy," Bucky says. "He helped me out when one of the guard was ragging on me."

"Did you tell him your name? He didn't seem to know who you were when I asked."

"Jimmy!" the bowler hat guy shouts. "I didn't think we'd see you again!" He jumps off the tank. He and the rest of the guys swarm around them.

Bucky leans tiredly against Steve. Exhaustion is etched on his face, dark circles under his eyes which are glassy. "Dugan, how many times do I have to tell you my name's Bucky?"

Dugan claps Bucky on the shoulder, causing him to almost tumble over. "I guess one more time, Jimmy. Damn, it's good to see you again."

"We assumed the worst when they took you," the British man says. "He's been gone over a week. I don't know that anyone lasted as long," he adds, directing the last to Steve. "I wasn't aware of his name."

Steve waves it off. "Everyone okay?"

"There were some minor injuries during the escape. And the guards weren't exactly easy on the workers before. Many of the men have broken bones." He looks at Bucky. "Your ribs were broken, if I'm not mistaken."

"I'm fine," Bucky mumbles. His face is pressed to Steve's shoulder, eyes closed.

"Where's the rest of the cavalry?" Dugan asked. "We've been looking around, but besides a few stray bad guys, we're not seeing anything."

She swallows. "Uh, well. Actually, I'm it. I mean it's just us."

Bucky lifts his head from her shoulder. "You came out here yourself?" His voice has that low, dangerous edge to it that is always gets when he thinks she's done something stupid.

"Not alone. Well." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the transponder Agent Carter had given her.

"What's that, exactly?" the British man asks, looking skeptically at the smashed metal.

"It's supposed to call the ride back. I think it's broken."

"What the hell is going on, Steve?" For someone almost asleep a second ago, Bucky sure is yelling loudly now. "Where's the rest of the troops? What the heck is that? What is going on?"

She shakes her head. "Now isn't the best time. I'll tell you. All of you. Everything. But, right now, we have to face the truth: no one's coming for us. They think we're dead. When I left, Colonel Phillips was writing letters of condolences. We're on our own. So, round up as much transportation as you can. Anything we can put the injured in. Scout for food and water. Weapons. Anything we can use."

"Are we moving out now?" Dugan asks.

Steve glances at Bucky and the rest. Shakes her head. "We can wait until dawn. Any able bodied men need to be put on a watch rotation." She looks at the British man. "What's your name?"

"Lord James Montgomery Falsworth."

"Will you and Mr. Dugan see everything set up?"

"Of course. Captain."

Bucky's fading out again, head on her shoulder, weight on her. She shifts to adjust her grip, then leads him towards a clearing by the tank.

"Okay, Bucky, I'm going to sit you down. Don't fall."

He wraps his arms around her neck and holds on while she lowers him to the ground. Then she takes off her jacket and puts it behind him, cushioning him against a tree.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"Like I want to know exactly what's going on." He opens his eyes.

She sighs. Rubs her face. Her skin feels sticky and grimy, sweat drying and caking ash against it. When she takes off her helmet, her hair is still damp with sweat. "They weren't going to come after you. I couldn't let you down."

"You didn't know if I was alive, Steve. They were right. You shouldn't have risked yourself. Do they even know?"

"No, they don't. Well, by now they do, obviously."

"How did you get here?"

"Howard Stark flew me."

Bucky's eyes practically popped out of his head. "Howard Stark like the filthy rich inventor Howard Stark? What… how… why…"

"He works with the SSR. Strategic Scientific Reserve. He helped Dr. Erskine with the formula to turn me into this."

"Did he know?"

"Know what?"

Bucky grabs Steve by the face. Stares intently into her eyes. "Does. He. Know?"

Oh. "Who? Dr. Erskine or Mr. Stark?"

"Either. Both. Anyone."

She nods. "Dr. Erskine knew. He knew from the beginning and still chose me. Mr. Stark knew because Dr. Erskine trusted him."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

Bucky slumps against the tree, squeezing his eyes shut. "That monster knows. God, Stevie, you heard him. What he plans…"

"Hey." She puts her hand on his knee. "It's not going to happen. Understand?"

"But he knows."

"So what? He's not stronger than me. He's not better. I can take him. He won't capture me and he's not going to win."

Bucky sighs and rubs his eyes. "You never should have come. Not on your own."

"I couldn't leave you." She rubs his knee. "Besides, Schmidt ran. He blew up his weapons and ran. We did it, Buck. I mean, you guys were left for dead, and now look at everyone who gets to go home."

"Oh, great. Now you're going to think this is a good thing you did."

"Well, I appreciate it." The black soldier from before hunkers down next to them. "Gabe Jones."

"Steve Rogers." She shakes his hand.

Jones passes a canteen to Steve. "Is it true that you came out here on your own?"

"Yeah." She takes a gulp of water before handing it to Bucky.

Jones nods. "Can't say I'm surprised. Well. I was in an all-black unit. None of us figured that good old Uncle Sam would send anyone after us. But the rest."

"It wasn't a matter of not wanting to," Steve says. "Resources are scarce."

"But they could spare you?" Bucky says. He hands the canteen back to Jones, but his eyes are on Steve.

She flushes. "I'm just a…" She swallows back the words _chorus girl_. "They had me doing USO shows."

Bucky's slams his head back against the tree. "I am going to kill you."

"USO?" Jones says.

"Yeah. I was selling war bonds before they sent me over here. But I can fight. I can hold my own," she adds, defensive.

Jones throws his hands up, grinning. "Cap, you just took out an entire installation of super-Nazis. No one's going to judge where you came from."

She exchanges a wry look with Bucky but stays silent. Instead, she takes the canteen back and swallows some more. "There's a lot more soldiers here than I was expecting. I thought a hundred fifty, if they were lucky. Maybe less. But this…"

"Rough estimate is over three hundred," Jones said. "We did a count in the cells a few days ago. It's not just American troops."

"No, I saw that. There's Lord Falsworth."

"They split us all up. Put Americans in with French and British and Italians and all. I think the idea was, even though we're allies, there'd be tension. We'd be so busy fighting each other, we wouldn't be able to band together to fight against them."

"It worked for a time," Falsworth said, rejoining them. He sat down next to Jones and looks to Steve. "If you would be so kind. I'm parched."

"Oh, yeah." She hands him the canteen.

"I got about twenty men who volunteered for first watch," Dugan announces, dropping into the circle with them. With him are the other two that were in the cell. They sit as well, filling out the circle. "There are more who volunteered to relieve them in a few hours." He takes the canteen from Falsworth and takes a swig. "What I wouldn't give for something harder."

"You'll have it soon enough," Falsworth says. He's not looking at Dugan, though, he's still staring at Steve through narrowed eyes. "There were already men who were looking for food and water. They'll bring here so we can ration it." His eyebrows went up suddenly, a look of surprise splashing across his face.

Her heart starts pounding at his look, but she says nothing. Just nods. "Do we know how many injured?"

"I'd say over fifty," one of the men, the Japanese man, who came with Falsworth says. "Maybe more. I found some field medics and set them working on the injured. They're moving the ones that can be moved to the ones who need to stay still."

"Will they be ready to move by morning?"

"If we can get transportation for them."

The man next to him says something in what sounds like French.

"I'm sorry," Steve says, looking at the others before back at him. "Can you repeat that?"

The man smirks and speaks again.

Jones laughs. "He said that he'll have no trouble getting any of the trucks working. He just needs a moment."

"Oh, of course." She glances at Falsworth, who's still looking at her, then back. "I didn't get your names."

"Jim Morita. I'm from Fresno," he adds, sticking out his hand.

"That's, uh. Good." She shakes. "I'm Steve Rogers."

"Jacques Dernier."

"I thought you said you were Captain America," Morita says, sitting back.

"Yeah. That's what they call me. I already told… I came overseas with the USO. I sold war bonds in the States before that."

"I have a few of your comics," says Morita. "I never thought you were a real person, though. I thought…"

She shrugs. "Yeah, I know. I, well. It's probably classified, but I was part of a program. They injected me with a serum to make me stronger. To make me the perfect solider. I wasn't supposed to be the only one, but the man who made the serum died. He was killed. The Army didn't want just one man."

"Are they nuts? You are amazing, Cap," Dugan says. "Who would have thought that one man could break into a Nazi stronghold? You must have ball of pure iron!"

Falsworth lets out a loud, slightly hysterical sounding, bark of laughter.

"What?" Bucky demands, surging upright.

"Bucky," Steve murmurs. She puts her hand on his arm.

"What are you laughing at?"

Falsworth stares at Bucky a moment, then shakes his head. "Please excuse my outburst. But your friend comes in holding a gaudily decorated shield and a star emblazoned across his chest like a target, frees over three hundred men, and escapes an exploded building while half carrying a man who's been tortured, then tells us this is his first time in the field? Because before, he was too busy selling war bonds and performing USO shows? If that's not fortune favoring the foolish, I don't know what is."

Bucky's still tense, still glaring at Falsworth. The others are looking around, confused, shifting uncomfortably at the rising tension crackling between the two men.

Finally, Falsworth lowers his eyes. "I owe the Captain my life."

It takes a few heartbeats, but Bucky relaxes. He settles back against the tree, slumping against Steve. "Yeah, you do. You all do." He closes his eyes. "So do I."

"Is he okay?" Morita asks softly. "Any of the medics looked him over yet?"

Steve shakes her head. "Not yet. Just let him rest right now. I'll make sure some checks him before we head out."

"In the meantime," Jones says, getting to his feet, "I'm going to gather some wood and get a fire going. It's getting cold."

"I'll rustle up something to eat," Dugan adds, rising as well.

Dernier says something in French before he gets up and leaves. A few minutes later, Morita goes off as well, leaving Bucky, Steve, and Falsworth alone.

"I won't say anything," Falsworth says, not looking at her.

"Thank you."

"Not that it's any of my business, but how…" He trails off, raising an eyebrow.

"How did you know?"

He frowns. Furrows his brow before he shakes his head. "I don't… Something clicked. Something that wasn't quite fitting before, and then I saw it and everything did."

"Some people see it. Most people don't. The doctor who did the experiment helped hide it. He thought I was the best person for the job."

Falsworth smiles. "I don't doubt for one moment he was right."


	13. Chapter 13

"You okay?" Steve asks. She hands Bucky a canteen and sits beside him.

He takes a drink before he answers. They've been marching for two days and he's exhausted. They're all exhausted, but they keep going. No one complains because they all know they're lucky to be here. Being exhausted means they're alive.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He screws the cap back on the canteen and passes it back. "How about you? I don't think you've stopped moving since you broke us all out."

She takes off her helmet and rubs her hands over her face. "Yeah. I'm not tired. Haven't really been tired since the serum." She scratches her hair, causing it to stand up in sweaty spikes.

"Is that normal?"

"I guess. Yeah, it's normal. Increased stamina and endurance was all part of the package." She looks at him. "You get your bandages changed today?"

"Yeah. Thompson did it before we started this morning. He said they're looking good." Not that Bucky would admit it if they weren't. A couple of the injured men had gotten infections, so last night Stevie and the others in her command group had discussed the possibility of raiding a town for medical supplies. Only problem was the nearest town would take them off course by about ten miles and delay their return to Allied territory. Plus, it'd put the entire group at risk with low probability of success.

On the one hand, Steve couldn't stand the idea of losing anyone. On the other, she didn't want to put the rest in danger.

They'd all discussed it long into the night and no firm decision had been reached. Not yet.

Stevie is stressed. In the past couple days, she's only rested when forced by her command group. The rest of the time, she moving around, marching and visiting with different groups, trying to get to everyone. Everyone wants to talk to her, hear the story of how she came storming in single handedly to rescue them all, but that's not it. She makes them talk, too. Learns their names, their stories. She's always had a fantastic memory, and now it's really showing. She'll be gone for hours, walking with the men at the back of the herd, and when she comes back, she's able to greet everyone by name and rank. If someone seems down, she reminds them of loved ones they've got waiting.

"Maria is waiting to hear you're alive. You can't get discouraged," she'll say. Or, "You know your kid brother, Lucas, is telling everyone that his brother's a hero. In a few days, maybe weeks, you'll prove him right."

She used to do the same thing back home. She knew every kid on the block. Not just their names but their dreams and likes and dislikes.

"That's Billy. Don't ever offer him an apple. He hates them."

"Sara wants to travel around the world. She says she can do it faster than 80 days."

Bucky doesn't even know how many men were rescued. He's heard different numbers. But, he positive that by the time they march back into camp, Steve will have talked to every single one.

He knows she's stressed. Like always, she doesn't complain, doesn't say anything, but he knows. He doesn't want to add to it, either, so he submits to medical treatment without complaint. He's not injured bad, not like some, just scabs and sores and scratches. Mostly, it's just trying to keep them clean and uninfected.

She's playing with her helmet now, not looking at him. Her eyebrows are drawn together.

He knows that look. She wants to ask him something that she thinks he doesn't want to answer. He probably doesn't. But he's almost too tired to think his way around whatever she's going to ask.

"What happened back there?" she asks.

He lets out a breath, feeling vaguely like he's been socked in the gut. "Jesus, Stevie. You don't just go around asking a solider that question."

"I'm not asking a solider, Bucky. I'm asking my best friend."

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, headache building behind them. "You don't really want know."

"Of course I do."

"Maybe I don't want to talk about it."

She nods. Says, "You're having nightmares."

"Of course I am."

Stevie presses against him. In the old days, her head would be at his shoulder. Their arms would press together, hips, legs. He'd rest his chin on the top of her head and he'd feel like he was home.

Now, nothing lines up the way it's supposed to. His head only comes up to her shoulder and their legs aren't quite right. It's different and wrong, but she smells the same and breathes the same and she's still Stevie. She's still home in all the ways that matter.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. Rests his head against her shoulder and closes his eyes.

"I kept waiting for them to ask me questions," he says softly. "When they took me, I was so sure. I went over and over in my head what I was supposed to do. Name, rank, serial number. Bucky Barnes didn't exist anymore. I was Sergeant. Three-two-five-five seven. James Buchanan Barnes. I was nothing. Just a body. I was ready to lay everything down."

Steve doesn't say anything, but he can hear her hollow, punched out breath.

"And they didn't even ask me anything." He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore how broken his voice is. How hurt. "Not even my name. He didn't care. The soldiers just took me into the room and strapped me to a chair. That doctor, Zola, comes over and starts… He had a goddamn stethoscope. Like I was getting a check-up. He listened to my heart, my lungs. He took my blood pressure. Even my temperature." He blinks, tears escaping down his face. "Then, he stuck me with a needle. Took my blood, and that was it. For that day. They had a cell in the corner of the room and they put me in it. I had to wait there all night, waiting. Wondering. When they came back the next day, I tried to escape. I got to the door before they hit me on the head with a rifle. Everything was fuzzy, but I know they chained me to the slab. And then Zola shot me with something."

"What was it?"

"I don't know. Made me feel like I was on fire. That's when I started… I mean, I screamed. I didn't want to. I bit through my lip before…. But it hurt."

"Did it do anything to you?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think so. Zola looked disappointed after. He took more blood and did more tests. I didn't cooperate at first, but they…" He swallows and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Bucky…"

"Don't," he says harshly. "I know, I get it. I wasn't strong enough to withstand what they did, so I caved. I walked when they told me and bent down and touched my toes and jumped up. I fought them when I could, but they kept…" He stops again.

Stevie hooks her fingers over his. Squeezes.

"I never told them anything. They didn't ask me, but I never would have said anything."

"I know you wouldn't have." She squeezes his hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster."

"I wasn't waiting. I didn't think I'd ever…" He doesn't finish.

"I did. I always knew we'd meet up again."

He closes his eyes. "Yeah. You've always had more faith than me." He shudders suddenly, taking him by surprise.

Stevie slings her arm around him, holding him together. "You know I didn't come for any of these guys. I mean, Pegg.. Agent Carter said that one hundred fifty men were lost, but I only came for one." She squeezes his arm. "Don't tell anyone."

He chokes out a laugh. "I w-won't." He can't stop shaking. "Peg?"

He feels Stevie blushing. "Agent Carter. Peggy. I've never called her that. I think it sometimes, but I'd never… She'd probably punch me."

"She'd probably break her hand. She your girl?"

She snorts. "Right."

"Steve. Any dame would be lucky to have you. I mean, have you seen yourself?"

"Bucky…"

"I'm serious, Stevie. You could have any girl in the world."

"I don't want any girl. I want someone who looks and sees _me_. Not… I never… I always wanted that. And it's more important now, because…"

He pulls away from Steve and turns to face her. "Before, no one had a chance to see you. I mean, I'm sorry, pal, but you weren't exactly putting yourself out there. You always held yourself back. If you'd just opened up a little bit, one of those girls would have fallen for you."

"And then what? I mean, come on, Bucky. You know what I am."

"That wouldn't matter. Not if they loved you." He reached out and put his hand over Steve's heart. "Not if they really knew you." _Like I do_.

Steve puts her hand over his and squeezes. "It's not as easy for me as it is for you."

He wants to cry. He wants to hit her. He wants to grab her and kiss her. He wants to scream.

But he can't. He doesn't. So, he laughs, even though his eyes are stinging. "It's easy for me because I'm just looking for a good time." _It's all I've ever been good for,_ he doesn't say. "Believe me, if I wanted what you wanted, I'd be stranded, too." He shakes his head. "You've always been worth a hundred of every other guys. You were made to be here, rescuing hundreds of men, making them love you and willing to follow you to the ends of the earth. Just because you weren't able to before doesn't make it not true. Same thing with women. Any dame who falls for you now, really falls for you, will be falling for that skinny kid from Brooklyn. They're just better able to see you now."

"Because of the serum."

"Because you're taller than everybody else now." He pulls his hand away and punches her on the shoulder. "Besides, I know you. If you like this Peggy, then she must be worth liking. Which means she probably sees through all this muscle to the part that really matters."

Steve ducks her head, a blush staining her cheeks. "Maybe. She was nice to me before." Then she sighs and slumps, looking like she was hit with a ton of bricks. Or the responsibility for over three hundred former prisoners of war. "I can't think about that right now, though. We've got hundreds of miles to go before I can think of… of anything."

"Hey. There are one thousand four hundred and forty minutes in a day, Stevie. You don't gotta be a hero for every single one." He used to say that to her back when they first moved out of the home. When they'd been struggling and working and barely scraping by. When she'd make herself sick worrying about him and school and anyone who was weaker or smaller than she was. On those nights when she'd been almost incoherent from rage or exhaustion or whatever emotion had struck her stronger than anyone in the world because her heart was so much bigger than anyone else's, he'd sling his arm around her and remind her that she didn't have to save the world right this minute.

She still doesn't. But she'll still try, because that's who she is.

Still, just like the old days, she closes her eyes and exhales, long and slow and steady. And, just for a minute, they sit there together and don't worry about saving the world.


	14. Chapter 14

There is no possible way for over two hundred men to march in silence. Between the stamp of the men's feet and the rumble from the engines of the vehicles they'd stolen, noise is inevitable. That was a given. Steve thanks their lucky stars that they haven't been discovered by any patrols on their trek to camp. The move slowly, they move noisily, but they haven't been caught.

The noise was inevitable. But she really wishes they didn't have to add to it by singing.

At the moment, there're singing about a rabbit. The refrain encourages the rabbit to the farmer before it's shot, but, halfway through the song, the it changes from "run rabbit" to "run Adolf." Each time they get to that part, the men get louder. They've sung it on repeat about a dozen times, and the trees shake from the force of their shouts.

Bucky is the loudest of them all.

Steve just sighs and smiles wearily. For the first time since the rescue, the tension lines are gone from Bucky's face. Beneath the dirt and weariness, he looks happy. All of them do. After days of marching and weeks of captivity, they're almost there. And the singing helps. They've sung in French and Belgian. They've sung love songs and silly songs and bawdy songs. And the more they sing, the lighter of foot everyone gets, and the happier Bucky looks.

She can't begrudge her men the noise. She can't begrudge Bucky anything.

"You look too serious, Stevie," Bucky says, slapping her on the back. "Lighten up a little. Sing."

She shakes her head. "I'll lighten up when we're safe."

"We are safe. We've got a mile at most, then we're back. You did it." His voice sounds hoarse. His eyes are fever bright and he's got a kind of manic energy to him that Steve recognizes. It's the kind of high that a person gets from pushing themselves too hard. When their body is close to giving out, but their mind is pushing them to keep going, just a little longer.

There's no use saying anything, though. Bucky's only pushing himself because he has to. Because the alternative is climbing into one of the trucks with the sick and injured and being carried into camp. And Steve knows he won't do that. He's going to make it on his own two feet.

And after that…

Steve swallows and rubs her hand across her mouth.

Bucky frowns. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, just, you know. Tired."

"Bull. You don't get tired anymore, remember?"

She shakes her head. "It's not that I don't get tired, it's just that it doesn't happen as easily as it used to."

"Don't change the subject." He doesn't stop, but he slows, eyes narrowed. "You got all pensive."

"Bucky…"

"Stevie."

She takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I'm just worried about what'll happen when we get there. I'm going to be in a lot of trouble, Bucky."

"You rescued…"

"Against orders. I'm AWOL." She shrugs. "I have to submit myself for disciplinary action. I might get thrown in prison for the rest of the war. Heck, the rest of my life. I just… I'm worried about you."

Bucky rolls his eyes. He veers off course so he bumps into Steve, knocking her with his shoulder. "You know, if you look up noble in the dictionary, your picture is right beside it. That and self-sacrificing nitwit."

She can feel heat creeping over her face as the back of Bucky's hand brushes against hers. Neither of them have bathed for days, and Bucky smells of sweat and dirt, but it's familiar. It curls through her, making her stomach tighten and warmth spread like waves through her. She looks at him from the corner of her eyes. At his jaw. His mouth.

He kissed her. He hasn't said anything about it, so she hasn't brought it up either. She doesn't even know if he remembers or if it was lost to the drugs and the haze of pain he'd been in. She doesn't even know if it means anything.

"I just want to do the right thing" she says softly.

"You did the right thing." His fingers curl around her and he squeezes before dropping her hand. "If those idiots can't see that, then… then I don't know how we're gonna win this war."

"Buck," she starts to say, but she's cut off by one of the men they'd sent ahead crashing through the underbrush, whooping.

"We're here!" he hollers, waving his hat above his head. "Camp's right around the corner!"

Steve and Bucky's eyes meet and they both pick up their pace. Behind him, the men quiet down, the raucous singing giving way to quiet talking. Their footsteps change from an offbeat shuffling to the more precise step of a march. Postures straighten. Weapons are cradled properly. Heads are held high.

The march into camp, a unified army made of every Allie in the force. Brought together by captivity and united in the common cause of getting home. And they are.

Soldiers are cheering as they march into camp. They swarm, clapping them on their backs. The world weariness that Steve had seen from the stage a million years ago when she'd performed is replaced by the light of hope.

The relief makes her head spin. A metallic, bitter taste rises to her mouth and her stomach twists in a sharp pain. God, they're here. Safe. She got them here, and if she could, she'd let herself collapse right now. Not because she's tired; her body feels ready to march another hundred miles and take out a thousand men if needed. But the enormity of what she's done suddenly hits her, and, if she could, she'd stop just to process what she's done. To berate herself for being that arrogant and risking everyone's lives.

But then she sees Peggy. Just her eyes, right over Colonel Phillips' shoulder. They're shining. Proud.

It gives Steve the strength she needs to face Colonel Phillips stone-faced glare. To meet his eyes and say, "Some of these men need medical attention," without flinching or letting any of her doubts color her voice.

Phillips glances at a nearby man, who calls for the medic. Then, he turns back to Steve.

The man is a wall. There is no expression on his face that Steve can read. She guesses that he's angry. Furious. She assumes he's looking at her disapprovingly. He might even be looking at her in disgust. But she's not entirely sure. All she knows is she wouldn't want to ever go up against him in a poker game.

She straightens out into attention. "I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action."

His expression doesn't change. He takes a breath, and Steve braces herself, expecting the call for the MP, wondering if they'll cuff her or allow her the dignity of walking away unbound, when Phillips says, "That won't be necessary."

And then, miracle of miracles, he gives her a tiny smile. In fact, Steve was certain she saw a hint of regard in his eyes. Of respect.

It's all she can do not to beam. "Yes, sir."

The tiny smile deepens before Phillips turns away.

Peggy looks… She glows. In the dirt and the filth and the danger and stress of war, she looks above it all somehow. Maybe it's lack of sleep and a continual, gnawing hunger in Steve's gut, but Agent Carter has never looked more beautiful or powerful than she does in this moment.

"You're late," Peggy says. Her voice is warm and welcoming. And relieved.

She'd worried about Steve, she realizes. That she wouldn't come back.

Steve wants to kiss her. Peggy is standing so close to her, Steve can smell the faintest hint of perfume rising from her warm skin. She wants to push her face against Peggy's neck and breath it in, make that smell the one that means home.

Instead, she pulls the broken transponder from her pocket. "Couldn't call for my ride," she says, holding it out.

Peggy doesn't answer. She just looks up at Steve, and it's like Dr. Erskine is looking at her in that moment.

The tension that had been making her feel sick only minutes before slides away. It hasn't been arrogance. It hadn't been vanity. Steve had been right to do what she did. She'd saved lives.

"Hey, everybody, let's hear it for Captain America!"

Steve shoots a look at Bucky as the rest of the men begin shouting her name. He's grinning at her a little maniacally, definitely strung out on too much stress and too little sleep. But she can see the pride in his eyes, too.

Around her, hundreds of men cheer for her, but there are only two who she cares about. Only two whose opinions really matter.

And she glows under their approval.

* * *

><p><em>I'm so, so sorry. I've had the worst writer's block. I'll try not to let as much time go by before the next update.<em>


	15. Chapter 15

It turns out the days long march to freedom had been good for something. By the time they make it to camp, Bucky is so exhausted that he doesn't even notice all the medics and doctors who poke and prod at him. After what Zola and his team of mad scientists had put Bucky through, he'd been afraid he'd have a problem letting anyone near him again. But, in the end, he basically sleeps through it all. He leads the entire camp through a few dozen rounds of cheers for Captain America before slumping sideways onto her and being dragged to the medical tent. After that, it's all kind of a blur.

He regains consciousness slowly. It's the good, slow, though, like waking up on Sunday morning, sun streaming in through the window after a restful sleep.

He reaches up with both hands and rubs his eyes. For the first time in forever, he feels clean. The sticky sweat and caked on dirt is off his skin. He doesn't stink of fear.

"You awake?"

Bucky opens his eyes.

Steve is sitting in a chair next to his bed. Her feet are resting on the edge of the bed, sketchbook balanced on her knees. The blue and white Captain America costume has been replaced with a regular Army uniform. The jacket is draped over the back of the chair, and she's got the tie loosened and collar unbuttoned, giving Bucky a view of her neck and collarbone peeking above her plain white undershirt.

Even her neck is bigger. Gone is the skinny chicken neck Bucky had almost been able to close his hand around, replaced with muscles and thickness that hadn't been there before.

Her smile is the same, though. The big, goofy thing that spreads across her face and makes the corners of her eyes wrinkle.

Bucky shakes his head as he sits up. "How long have you been sitting there watching me?"

"I haven't been watching you. I've got more interesting things to be worried about," she says. She drops her legs from the bed and leans forward. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just marched two hundred miles." He sees a glass of water next to his bed and grabs it. Looks around as he drains it, the cool liquid soothing the sore parched desert of his throat.

He's in a hospital. Miracle of miracles, he has a private room, but he can see doctors, nurses, and patients walking down the hallway through the open door behind Steve. The linens are scratchy and smell like bleach and the mattress is almost as thin as the sheets, but it's an actual bed, so Bucky's not going to complain.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"On and off for five days. You woke up to eat and stuff, but you weren't exactly coherent."

He winces. "Did I say anything embarrassing?"

Stevie just grins at him.

Bucky flops back. His back protests at the jarring moving, but it's just sore muscles, nothing serious. "Yeah, well, I got years of blackmail material on you. Don't get any ideas."

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you." He cracks open an eye. "Don't give me that innocent look, Stevie. To the others, you might be some kind of comic book hero, but I know better. Under that angel face is something… not so… angelic."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Can't put anything past you."

"No, you can't." He sits up again. "So what's the situation?"

Steve taps her pencil against her sketchbook. "We're back in London. I've been trying to recreate that map that was hanging in…" She stops and swallows. "Anyway. I pretty much remember where all the Hydra facilities were. I told them that that you said Hydra shipped all the parts to a facility not on the map, but I think they're going to want to debrief you themselves. Too. I mean officially."

"They probably just want to make sure I didn't tell any secrets to the enemy. Not that I know any important secrets."

"You know some," she says, eyebrows raised.

"What, you mean like Steve Rogers is afraid of spiders?"

"I'm not afraid of them, Bucky, I just don't like them crawling over my face."

"Sure, that's why you throw your sketchbook at them from across the room and make me squish 'em." He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and kicks her shin. "Don't worry, your deep dark secret is safe with me."

"You're my best friend. If I can't trust you to have my back, who can I trust?" She knocked her knee against his. "Speaking of…"

"Uh-oh. I know that voice." Bucky narrows his eyes. "You only use that voice when you want me to do something."

She shakes her head. "No. It's not like that. Really. I just wanted to tell you that, well. I'm going to be going after those Hydra weapons facilities. Phillips is hoping that, if we get enough of them, Schmidt will lead us right to his main base. And, himself, of course. He wants me to lead the team."

His heart sinks into his stomach, but Bucky musters a half smile. "Well, who else? You already took out one on your own. I'm surprised he thinks you need a team."

"I didn't take it out on my own, Bucky," she says earnestly. She moves even closer to him until their legs pressing together. "I had Dugan and Falsworth, Morita, Jones, and Dernier. I had you." She looks at him, eyes so, so blue and eyelashes long and thick. They highlight the goodness in her eyes, that core of strength and honor that's always made her who she was.

"Yeah, but…"

"No. No, whatever you're going to say, no. Bucky, I wouldn't have made it out of there if it hadn't been for you."

"You wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been for me."

That pulls a crooked smile from her. "I let you out of my sight for two minutes…"

"Yeah, yeah." He punches her in the arm. "You know you don't know your ass from your elbow if I'm not around to tell you which is which. How long was it after we said good-bye that you volunteered your body for science?"

"A couple hours?"

He snorts. Reaches out and pinches her stomach "Jesus, are you muscle all over?" he asks in amazement. Even through the fabric of her shirt, he can feel how hard her stomach is and the ripples of muscle. It's a far cry from the concave mess Bucky used to worry about feeding.

"Not all muscle. Just, you know. A lot." She pushes his hand away. "Bucky, listen, I need a team. I want they guys, but I don't know… Do you think they'd want to come with me?"

Christ. Steve's the embodiment of human perfection. She's just spent days making every man she rescued from Hydra love her, and she still doesn't get it. Bucky doesn't understand how one person can know so much about being a leader, and yet not understand anything about herself.

"Stevie, they… Yeah. They'll follow you anywhere. If you said you were marching to the Gates of Hell tomorrow, they'd be ready to go in five minutes."

"Be serious."

"I am." He looks at her, trying to copy her most innocent expression so she'd understand. "Dugan and the rest? They're as crazy as you are. They followed the orders of a man wearing the American flag as tights without question. I think that those in charge will have a problem stopping them from following you. I mean, I like the guys, but they aren't exactly what you'd called America's dream team. Two of 'em ain't even American."

Steve nods. "I know. But Phillips says that if I can convince them, then he'll get them for me." She flicks him on the knee. "That means you, too, you know. I can't… I don't want to do this without you."

"You asking me to be on your team?"

"I hear you're a hell of a sniper," she says with a half-smile. "And this is what we wanted, right? Being in battle together?"

"No. I wanted you back home, safe."

She rolls her eyes.

"But," he adds, "I guess, if you really want to, I can tag along. As a favor."

"Well, thanks. I appreciate it." She licks her lips. "Can you help me convince the others? Maybe if they know you're already onboard…"

"Stevie!" Bucky whaps her on the side of the head. "You're not listening. You won't need me. They'll join you on their own."

"But just in case…"

He sighs, knowing he won't win the argument. "Fine. I'll go with you. But I won't have to say a word. Trust me on that."


	16. Chapter 16

Asking the fellas goes easier than she expects it to. She has this whole speech prepared. She even wrote it down so she doesn't fumble her words, but they don't need to hear it. All she has to do is say that she's going after Schmidt and wants them along with her, and they're ready.

Falsworth even says he thinks it sounds like fun.

Well. She knew what kind of men they were. Brave. Reckless. Honorable. True. She'd gotten to know them well on their trek back from Schmidt's factory. She'd heard their stories, knew that they hated bullies as much as she did, believed in freedom as ardently as she did, too. She couldn't have asked for a better team.

But, they'd been at this a lot longer than she had. They'd been in captivity and deserved time to recover. She'd expected to have to persuade them to give it up.

"See, I told you!" Bucky crows when Steve comes back from the easiest sales job in history. "They're all idiots." He lifts his glass to his mouth and drains his drink.

Steve refrains from rolling her eyes at him. She's learned, through many years of experience, that it's better to ignore him when he's like this. He likes to be right, and he especially likes to be right when Steve been doubting herself about something.

"What about you?" She sits on the bar stool next to his. She doesn't look at him, because she's pretty sure she knows what he's going to say and she doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.

Bucky is… different. He's fragile in a way he's never been their whole lives together. Ever since they were kids, Bucky's been this strong, robust character, larger than life, filling up the room with his light and energy.

Right now, though, he's all pulled in on himself. He's still exhausted from the ordeal, that's clearly part of it. Steve had tried to make him stay behind and sleep some more, but Bucky had insisted on coming.

But it's more than exhaustion. Or, more than physical exhaustion at any rate. His soul is tired, too. Schmidt had drained him, stolen some of his confidence and his brashness. There's a new caution to his movements. A suspicion in his eyes.

He should go home. He deserves it. He deserves to go back to New York, where it's safe, and recover from everything he went through.

But, God, Steve doesn't want him to go. She needs him here, on her team, at her side. If she's going to do this, she wants to do this right, and that means she needs Bucky.

So, she waits until she knows he's not looking at her, and asks, "You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?" She looks at him then, heart in her throat, waiting.

"Hell no." Bucky shakes his head. "That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I'm following him." He looks at Steve, face as serious as she's ever seen it.

She can't help the smile or the flush of warmth that goes through her. No one else's opinion matters like Bucky's. Yes, she wants the other men at her back because they're good, decent men, but they don't know her. Bucky, though, has seen her at her lowest.

If they were back home, or even alone, she'd hug him. Heck, she might even kiss him, the relief is so overwhelming.

She settles for the smile.

Then, Bucky grins mischievously. "But you're keeping the outfit, right?"

When Bucky had seen pictures of the actual costume, tight pants and all, he'd whistled, eyes bugging out of his head. Then he'd called her the prettiest chorus girl he'd ever seen.

The shadows like bruises under his eyes was the only reason Steve hadn't decked him. Well, that and when they were growing up, her hitting him was like an ant stepping on a giant's toe. Now she was terrified that she might hurt him by even clapping him on the shoulder.

"You know what?" she says, looking at the poster. "It's kind of growing on me." It's only half a lie. The costume as it was isn't practical to take into the field. But the idea behind it… If she was going to Captain America, maybe the red-white-and blue was the way to go.

Bucky's eyebrows quirk, and Steve can see the off-color comment forming on his lips when the singing from the other room suddenly dies.

Both she and Bucky lean back to see what happened. With the way the team's been drinking, and the general attitude of "live tonight to the fullest, for tomorrow you might be dead," nothing short of an air raid should have been able to silence them.

Peggy steps through the door. In a red dress that shows every curve God blessed her with, she's a splash of color in a monochromatic world. She moves like a jungle cat, all fluid motion and grace, her eyes never leaving her target.

Never leaving Steve.

Steve becomes suddenly aware of her necktie, which is just a shade too tight around her neck. She feels the skin on her spine prickling and a sudden heat engulf her.

"Captain."

"Agent Carter." Her fingers twitch and she tries to catalogue the shade of red that Peggy's wearing and the way the shadows fall on her and the highlights in her hair.

"Howard has some new equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?"

Even Steve can recognize the pretense. No one would wear that dress just to set an appointment. And she's barely looked at Bucky. Just a glance and then she targeted right back on Steve.

She stands a little straighter. "Sounds good."

And then she doesn't know what to say. What's allowed, what's appropriate? She doesn't want Agent Carter to think she's like the rest of the guys, looking for a moment of fun and forgetfulness. But could she ask her to stay for a drink? Maybe with Bucky acting as a buffer…

But she knew from experience how unpleasant being a third wheel was. And she just got Bucky back…

"I see your top squad is prepping for duty." There's a smile on her lips and no judgment in her voice. A solider, through and through. She understood.

"You don't like music?" Bucky asks.

"I do, actually."

Steve can't help the heat that rises in her. Agent Carter… no. Not Agent Carter. Peggy. Peggy is looking at her, telling her something. Telling her…

"I might, when this is all over, even go dancing."

Oh. _Oh_

Steve smiles. Just a little. Just a touch, because every other muscle is frozen by the sudden rush of energy to every part of her body. If she doesn't stand perfectly still, if she doesn't contain it, she might explode.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

Peggy doesn't look at Bucky as she answers, "The right partner." She blinks, looking almost vulnerable for a moment, and then pulls back. "Oh eight hundred, Captain." She turns and stars walking away.

Once Peggy isn't pinning her down anymore, Steve's able to move. She shifts on her feet and allows her head to fall as she said, "I'll be there." She closes her eyes and counts as her heart rate gradually returns to normal.

"I'm invisible," Bucky says. He turns to Steve. "I'm turning into you. It's like a horrible dream." He sounds like he's joking, up until that last word. Then his face falls. His brow furrows. His shoulders draw together. He's the very picture of a wounded man.

She can't say anything. He'll only lash out if she tries to make him feel better. If she tells him that what he went through hasn't changed anything, it's just that Peggy and her… they understand each other. They've faced some of the same challenges and it's nothing against Bucky.

That would make it worse. Steve and Peggy might have had to fight tooth and nail to get in the door, but Steve and Bucky…

"Cheer up." Mindful of her strength, she puts her hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Maybe she's got a friend."

"Oh, you're a jerk." Bucky sits back down and slides his empty glass toward the bartender. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Enjoying a beautiful woman finding me attractive?" She pretended to think about it. "No. No, not at all."

Bucky lifts his newly refilled drink and salutes Steve. "To Captain America. May he remain the bigger man and always remember that it's not nice to gloat."

Steve raises his glass as well. "To Bucky Barnes. Who, for years, was the best example a guy could have on how to be the bigger man." The clinked glasses, even as Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes.

The song in the outer room changes as they drink. Bucky's eyes lit up and he hurriedly gulps down his drink.

"Come on," he says, grabbing Steve by the arm. His steps are quick as he practically drags Steve into the front room as the chorus of, "Run, Adolf, run Adolf, run, run, run," starts up.

Bucky throws himself into an empty chair between Dugan and Jones, looping his arms around their shoulders. The three of them immediately begin swaying in time, belting off-key. When they get to the chorus the second time, Dugan and Bucky exchange looks, and then stand up, bellowing, "Run, Schmidty, run, Schmidity, run, run, run! Now that the fun has be-gun, gun, gun!"

The other team members immediately leap to their feet. Arms are roped around necks and Steve is pulled into the group. "P'raps you'll just allow us to explain! What we did once we can do AGAIN!" The last line is delivered somehow louder, accompanied by the pounding of feet and sharp slaps to the back.

Dugan breaks off the song with a loud whoop. "Look out, Schmidt, you got the dogs of war on your heels!" He gives another whoop.

The rest of the bar takes it as an invitation to make as much noise as they can. For a moment, it's like being caught inside a thunderstorm. The walls are practically shaking.

Steve just shakes her head. Bucky's glowing, arm still looped around Dugan's neck, neck tilted back as he drains a pint of beer in a single gulp. That was Bucky: able to throw off his melancholy in a heartbeat when the right song was playing.

She just watched them for a moment. The way Bucky's head tilts toward Dugan's, the lamplight catching dull sandy highlights in his hair. The way beer gathers at the tips of Dugan's mustache. Jones and Dernier, heads together as they talk a mile a minute. Morita draped casually in his chair while Falsworth, even at his most relaxed, still retains something of an English lord about him.

She tries to freeze the image in her mind. Her men, at their most carefree, their easiest. She wants to remember this for later, when things get hard. This is the image that will get her through the dark and cold.

"Hey, girls, look who it is!" a familiar voice drawls. "It's that no good lout, Captain America."

She turns. "Evie!"

Evie smacks her across the face, the sound ringing out in the suddenly silent bar.

She blinks. "What…"

All the chorus girls who came on tour are gathered in front of her. Every single one has their arms crossed tightly over their chest. Dottie's tapping her toes. Evie has bright red splotches on her cheeks, a sure sign she's furious.

"Oh, no, you don't get to talk, Mr. I-don't-tell-anyone-where-I'm-going!" Evie's finger pokes Steve in the chest, forcing him a step back. "You left us! Us! Without telling anyone where you were going! You just disappeared!"

"I…" She takes another step back. Stumbles over someone's foot and trips backwards into a chair.

"You don't do that to your friends! You don't just leave without saying anything!" There are tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "We wouldn't have told anyone. We would have kept your secret. Believe me, no one can play dumb like a chorus girl."

"It wasn't…"

"We didn't know where you'd gone, and there were rumors you went to rescue the rest of the 107th all by yourself, but we didn't know for sure and no one would tell us anything!"

"I'm…"

She slaps him again. "No. God, Steve, no."

The other girls gather around her, comforting hands on her.

"And you stole my helmet," Dottie says. "I would have lent it to you. You just had to ask."

"I'm sorry. There wasn't time. I had…" She shrugs. "Bucky was in trouble."

Evie sniffs. Wipes her eyes without smearing her mascara. Nods. "Well. You can make it up to us by buying us a round."

"Evie…"

She waves off what Steve was going to say. "Eh. I woulda done the same if it was my husband. Just don't do it again. Ever. Got it?"

She nods. "I promise."

Evie smiles. "Well. I know Captain America would never give his promise and not keep it. So we're good." She holds out her hand.

Steve shakes it.

"Now. Go get us that round." Then, she turns to the rest of the men. "Ladies, I do believe we just found ourselves the best seats in the house."

Theres a rumble of consent from the team and, seconds later, everything goes back to the way it was. Music, laughter (now mostly at Steve's expense), and lots of alcohol.

By the time Steve gets back with the next round of drinks, Evie is sitting on Bucky's lap, arms around his neck. All the girls are on someone's lap, chatting and laughing. It's all very cozy and friendly. Intimate, but it was war and these weren't the first soldiers that Steve and the girls had come across. It wasn't like she was surprised.

Except, before, she'd left when the girls had started flirting. Now, she isn't sure what to do.

Then Evie says, "Steve, introduce me to your friend."

Steve raises her eyebrow. Evie hasn't looked away from Bucky for a moment. Their noses are almost touching as they gaze into each other's eyes. Introduction are clearly redundant at this point.

But, then again, she doesn't want to make Evie mad, so… "Um, Evelyn Stapleton, this is my friend, Sargent James Barnes."

Bucky gives her a lopsided smile. "You can call me Bucky."

"And you can call me Evie."

He grins and adjusts his grip around Evie's waist. "Sit down, Stevie, you're making me nervous."

Steve sits, even though she's pretty sure both Evie and Bucky would like nothing more than to be alone. So much for not being a third wheel anymore.

"Did you get any of his letters?" Evie asks.

"What?"

"Steve. He wrote you a letter a week. And he drew a picture every day and sent them over here for you. Did you get any of them?"

Bucky shakes his head.

Evie sighs. "He didn't think so. The mail isn't exactly getting around like clockwork, but he felt like his wasn't getting through at all. Which is a shame. Those drawings were gorgeous."

"I've seeing his drawings."

"Then you know what you're missing."

Bucky's eyes flick over to Steve. "Yeah. I know."

"We all have some. Maybe if you have time, you can come by and see them."

"Are you asking me to come by and see your etchings?"

Evie laughs and lightly bats Bucky on the chest. "Don't go getting any ideas, solider."

"I got lots of 'em already." He shifts Evie on his knees. "So. All you girls were on the road with Steve for months. How'd that work?"

"Well, he was a perfect gentleman. Didn't even talk to any of us for the first two weeks. He claims it's because Senator Brandt wouldn't let him, but that's malarkey. Truth was, he was too shy."

"That sounds like Steve. What broke the ice?"

"Some of the stagehands were being a little less than gentlemanly towards us. You know how it is. If a girl has a nice figure and can dance, she must be a whore."

"Evie," Steve protests, but Bucky's nodding.

"I know the type who'd say that. Let me guess, Steve decked him."

"No. He didn't have to. He heard what they were saying and went up and said, 'You need to apologize the ladies right now.' Those goons were so scared, they almost swallowed their tongues. The funniest part, though, was Steve. He was so shocked when they tripped over themselves to apologize. He almost didn't know what to do."

"Was he in his costume."

"Not the helmet, but, yeah, the rest of it."

"And after that?"

"After that, we adopted him. We took real good care of him for you."

Bucky's face relaxes into an easy smile. "I appreciate it. Steve's not so good at looking after himself."

"I'm right here."

They ignore him.

"So," Bucky says, readjusting his grip on Evie and reaching for his drink. "What's this about your husband?"

Her face lights up and she begins telling Bucky all about him. And watching them talking, watching how at ease Bucky is, how he and Evie fall into conversation about who's harder to look after, Steve or her husband, Steve finds herself content to take the third wheel. It's fine. She's kept busy enough sketching out the picture in her mind.

The party breaks up just after midnight. Bucky's drunk and half asleep, leaning on Steve's shoulder as she drags him outside.

"You make sure you take care of Steve when you're out there, hear me?" Evie says. "And you too, Steve. Watch out for Bucky."

"I will, ma'am."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't start with me." She raises herself to her toes and plants a kiss on his cheek. "We're leaving on tour on Saturday. Write me when you have time."

"You, too."

She smiles. Looks at Bucky. "See you around, solider." She leans in and gently kisses him. Then she pulls away and joins the rest of the girls.

"She's nice," Bucky says, leaning more heavily on Steve.

"Yeah, she is. Come on. You're staying with me tonight."

"Good Don't want to go back to the barracks. They always smell like dirty socks and body odor."

"I don't know if my room's any better," Steve says. "I've barely been in it."

"Yeah, but it's officers' quarters. 's good." He's shuffling his feet now, barely moving.

Steve shakes her head and readjusts her grip. "Don't fall asleep on me yet. We're not there."

"You owe me."

She concedes the point. After all the times Bucky had dragged her sorry drunk-or-beaten behind to their apartment, she definitely owes him now.

They get to her quarters without much trouble. She has to shake him awake a couple times, but they make it.

The room is small, just a bed, washstand, a bureau, and desk. The desk is already covered with maps and files on Schmidt and Hydra. She's tacked a few of the maps on the wall, along with quick sketches of the men and Bucky. Her things, such as they were, have been moved in, so she's got clothes and the bindings Stark had given her.

"This bed is small," Bucky says after Steve lowers him onto it. He rolls onto his stomach and presses his face against the thin pillow.

"You can have it. I'll be fine on the floor." She sits on the bed and puts his feet in her lap so he can start undoing his laces.

"We can squeeze."

She laughs. "I'm not sure we can." At his look, though, she amends, "We can try. But, truth is, I'm not all that tired. Since the serum, I haven't needed as much sleep."

"You still need some." He rolls over again and sits up. "When's the last time you slept?"

"Yesterday. Bucky, I've slept. Really." She pulls off his boot then starts working on the second.

He pushes her off. "I can do it. You get ready for bed."

"Oh, come…"

"Ah! No protesting. Just do it."

She rolls her eyes, but stands and starts undressing. "I have to meet with Mr. Stark in the morning, and I want to sketch out some ideas for the uniform." She pulls off her tie and unbuttons her shirt.

"Uniform? What's wrong with the one you got?"

"Well, the one I wore for the show…"

"Wait, you're really planning on wearing the costume?"

She pulls off her shirt and hangs it up. "Something like it. But, well. More combat ready." She shrugs and reaches underneath her undershirt to pull off the bindings. "Schmidt is expecting Captain America to come after him. I need to play that part."

"Holy crap."

"What?"

Bucky's staring at her chest, slack jawed.

She looks down, sees what he's looking at, and flushes "Oh. Yeah." She crosses her arms over her breasts. "It's nothing."

"No, those are breasts. Don't hurt keeping them tied down like that?"

She shrugs. Sits on her desk chair and starts working on her boots. "Not really. It aches a little when I first unwrap them, but it goes away. I heal faster than normal."

"It's not going to hurt you, is it?"

"Binding my breasts? I don't think so. I'm fine, Bucky." Shoes off, she stands and strips out of her pants. "Mr. Stark designed the bindings and the shirts. He wouldn't do it if it was something that hurt me."

"The man shot you up with Vita-rays without knowing what it would do. Excuse me if I don't have absolute faith in him." He scoots over so he's pressed against the wall. There's not much space left for Steve, but she climbs onto the bed next to him anyway.

"I volunteered."

"And we're not done discussing the stupidity of that decision." Bucky yawns and slumps down on the bed. "But not tonight."

"Yeah." Steve gets up and turns off the light. Then she slides back into bed.

Bucky's turned onto his side, back to Steve. She finds there's just enough room for them both if she moved close to him and curves her body around his.

"Thanks for coming after me, Steve."

"You would have done the same for me."

There's a soft sigh, and then Bucky draws Steve's arm over him, holding her hand tight. "Yeah, I would have. But, still. Thanks."

She squeezes Bucky's hand. "I'd do it again. I'll always do it. You and me, Bucky. You and me against the world."

"You and me against Schmidt. After that, let's lay off the world a bit. Give it a break."

"Yeah. Sounds good."


	17. Chapter 17

"Sergeant. Three two five five seven. James Buchanan Barnes."

"Yes, Sergeant, I heard you before." The doctor, voice soft and heavily accented. His hands are softer than his voice, stroking down Bucky's arm, probing, looking for a vein. Gooseflesh rises where he touches. "If it mattered who you are or what you know, I'd be impressed by your tenacity of will. But it would be wiser to save your strength."

There is a sharp prick. Fire races through him, scorching. It tears at him, burning him from the inside out.

"Bucky?"

"Stevie?" He blinks flames from his eyes.

"I thought you were dead." Her face appears over Bucky's.

There's fire in her eyes, too. Dark lines creep up her skin.

"Steve. There's something in your eye."

She reaches up and scratches at her left eye. The skin around it droops, revealing red beneath.

The jolt that goes through Bucky paralyzes him. "Steve. what did you do?"

"I'm fine, Bucky. I'm better than I was before. See?" She hooks her fingers in the flap around her eye. With a little tug, she tears off her face.

Schmidt stares down at him.

Bucky jerks awake, breath caught in his throat. Sweat pours in rivulets down his face, sticking his shirt and underwear to skin. He's shivering with cold even though he still feels the fire at the coor of him.

He swipes a hand down his face and shudders, stomach rolling.

"You awake?" Steve whispers.

He nods in frantic little twitches. "Did I wake you?" he asks, turning his head to look at her.

She shrugs.

Bucky swallows and wipes his face again. "Just paying you back." He sits up and tugs off his sopping shirt. "The hours of sleep you made me lose."

Steve lets out a huff of laughter as she climbs out of bed. She grabs a dry shirt an brings it over. Her eyes meet his. "You know, you don't…"

"Stop."

"What you've been through…."

"Steve!" He shouts it a lot louder than he meant to. He's angrier than he means to be, too. Everything is just… more. He's hot and angry. He wants to hurt someone. To punch Steve. To tear his hair and scream and cry. His skin crawls. He aches and burns.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and digs his nails into his palms. "I'm not leaving you," he says, concentrating on the sharp points of pain. "If I go back to New York, I won't…." He casts around to for a way to explain before he shrugs. "You need someone to look out for you."

Steve swallows and licks her bottom lip, eyes darting away from Bucky's. "So do you."

Bucky smiles and eases his nails from his palms. "Then it's a good thing I'm here with you, then, huh?"

"Yeah." Steve tosses the dry shirt at him so it his him in the face. She climbs back onto the bed, springs creaking as she settles her weight.

Bucky pulls the shirt and settles next to Steve. "What time is it?"

"Almost 0600."

"You're meeting with Howard Stark later, right?"

She nods.

"And Agent Carter?" He grins as a red flush climbs up her cheeks. "Man, Stevie, I don't understand why you didn't grab her last night and bend her over for a kiss. She would have let you."

Her face is glowing red now. "Bucky. It wouldn't have been right."

"Why not? She wants you. You want her. What's more right than that?"

"Well… I wouldn't want to presume."

"Presume? You saw what she was wearing, right? She wore that for you. She practically gift wrapped herself for you."

"She's a lady."

"I'm not saying she's not. But she's a woman, too. And women like being close to someone as much as anyone else."

Steve closes her eyes. "I know. I didn't mean… I mean, she's a lady and an officer. I wouldn't want to do something that made the men forget about the officer part. It's hard enough to break through the door, you know?"

He frowns. "I'm not… No."

She rolls her head against the wall and looks at him. "You've been told no lots of time. For jobs or whatever. Turned away because you were too young or too skinny or just… or because they didn't want you. So, you went out and found something else. You got older and got stronger and bigger, and then they wanted you. But they never said no to you because of something you couldn't change. But Agent Carter, I mean. She's a woman. And she's gorgeous. The world wants her on a shelf, somewhere, safe. Protected. She's had to reshape the world so she can be here. Gift-wrapped or not, if I grabbed her in a room full of men and kissed her, I'd be reminding everyone of that shelf they think she should be on. I couldn't do that."

Steve's always been better with pictures than words, but her words paint a pretty vivid picture. Of course, it's not Agent Carter that Bucky is seeing on that shelf, it's Steve. The image brings that panicky feeling back, because maybe Bucky's never had to fight like that for himself, but he'd spent years doing it for Steve. Every cold and headache and flu and ache came with the fear of discovery. It never went away, and even when Steve didn't seem to be aware of it, Bucky couldn't help it. He can't help it now.

So, he gets it, as much as he's able. It's a delicate dance, keeping people seeing what you want them to see rather than what's right there.

"You could have followed her. Gone somewhere without so many eyes."

"I was with you."

"Believe me, buddy. I'd understand." He nudges her with his shoulder.

Steve looks down at her hands. "I'm not what she thinks I am."

Bucky sobers. He moves even closer, until their bodies are pressed together, shoulder to ankle. "It won't matter. She looks at you and she sees into you. In the bar, she never took her eyes off your face. She was looking at you. What's underneath… she won't care."

"I don't even know what I'd say. How to explain. I never got close enough to anyone to really worry."

Something inside him twists. It chokes off his breath and he can't talk.

He always thought he was prepared to lose Steve. She is so much better than him. She deserves so much more. But the threat has never been so real.

He's going to lose his best friend, and there's nothing he can do.

Bucky swallows painfully. It feels like there's glass in his throat. The breath he forces in is like a rake scraping the inside his chest. "Maybe…." His voice sounds strangled. He swallows and starts again. "Maybe you can just show her."

Steve shakes her head, lips curled into a half-smile. "I don't think it'll come to that. Can't imagine a situation where I could just, you know." Her cheeks bloom. "Strip."

He forces himself to grin. "Then I ain't educated you right."

She socks him on the shoulder. "Shut up. I just mean, we're at war. There isn't exactly time for… dancing." The flush creeps down her neck.

He almost blurts out that there's always time for dancing, especially during war, but the worlds die on his tongue. Instead, he says, "Well. I guess it's probably better. The worlds needs Captain A"

Steve nods. Runs her hand over her face. "I should probably get ready. I don't want to be late."

"Can't have that. The world might end if Steve Rogers didn't show up for an appointment an hour early." Bucky makes a big show of yawning and stretching. "I think I'll catch another forty winks myself."

She smiles. "Yeah, yeah, lazybones. You loaf around as long as you want." She gets up and crosses the room to the desk. "I know you were keen on me keeping the costume, but I thought maybe something a little more, uh… with pants instead of tights might be better." She picks up some papers and brings them to Bucky

"The tights were the best part." He looks at what Steve's drawn. "You wanna stick with the red and blue, huh? Won't it make you stand out a big?"

"I'm a symbol. I'm supposed to stand out."

"You're a soldier. Painting a target on your chest is stupid."

"It's not a target. And, I don't know, maybe Mr. Stark can come up with something as protection."

"Like a shield? I know you've always liked stories about night, but what good is a piece of tin against a Tommy gun?"

She shrugs. "It felt right taking the one I had with me. And maybe Mr. Stark…"

"The man's not a magician."

"No, but our weapons would have looked like magic to soldiers a hundred years ago. You saw those guns Schmidt's men have. Maybe Stark's got something up his sleeve that we don't know about."

"Yeah, but…" He's cut off by a big yawn and a wave of drowsiness washing over him. His jaw cracks and his eyes water.

Steve nudges him and takes the drawings back. "Go back to bed. You need sleep. I'll see you later."

"Tell Stark not to make it too bright," he says, laying back. "And make sure, if he makes a shield, it holds up against the weapons we stole from Schmidt. And tell him…" He forgets what else he wants Steve to tell Stark.

"I will," Steve says softly. She runs her fingers over Bucky's forehead. "No nightmares, okay?" She taps him in the center of his forehead. "Sleep well."

"Yeah," he mumbles, weeks of exhaustion pulling him back under. "You, too."


	18. Chapter 18

The first mission is, to Steve's mind, a success. A huge one. They Commandos get to the targeted Hydra base easily. She'd been afraid they'd meet some sort of resistance. That Schmidt would have somehow anticipated which base Steve, Phillips, and Peggy had chosen as their first target. They tried to be strategic and choose one that wouldn't present too much of a challenge, but, at the same time, didn't seem obviously easy.

Maybe the guards had been on alert, but it hadn't helped. Steve and the rest of the guys were too good. Even with only a few weeks to train, they worked together like they'd been doing it for years. They listened to her every order, took initiative when they saw things that she didn't, covered each other, and worked perfectly.

"Schmidt's going to be sobbing into his pillow tonight, boys!" Dugan crows as they watched the factory burn. He tips his bowler back and shakes his head. "A few more missions like this, and he's going to be begging to surrender."

"Yeah, maybe he'll rethink taking so many prisoners, too." Jones pushes a canteen at Steve and plops down next to Dugan. "All he's doing is keeping men to fight against him the moment they get the chance."

Steve's hands shake as she lifts the canteen. Water spills down her chin and she wipes it away. "I didn't expect there to be so many prisoners. Again." She reaches for the fastenings of the cowl and pulls it off. The cool air is almost a shock against her sweaty skin. She runs a hand through her hair.

There weren't as many as had been at the last base, but there were still over a hundred men. They, too, had been kept in cages, crammed in too many to a cell. At least there was no evidence that Zola had been experimenting on them, like he had Bucky. These men were all there to do the hard labor.

"It will definitely make extraction more interesting," Falsworth says. He waves Steve's offer of the canteen away. Instead, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. "How far away from the extraction point are we?"

"Ten miles." She gulps down some more water. The shaking doesn't ease. She's starving and her stomach feels hollowed out, gut punched. They warned her this could happen, that her metabolism works so fast now that she'll burn through calorie like nothing. She has food in her pack, some kind of dense, calorie-laden things that tasted like dirt, just in case something like this happened.

But the men they've rescued are hungry, too. There are some rations for them, enough to get something into their stomachs before heading out, but it's not much. And Steve doesn't feel right having something the others don't.

"You sure spread yourself around out there, Cap," Dugan says. He takes a swig from his own canteen and gives her a lopsided smile. "Seems like everywhere I looked, there you were. Almost felt useless."

"Useless? I couldn't have gotten anything done without you guys." She shakes her head and smiles at Dugan. "You're amazing."

"Ah, shucks, Cap." Dugan takes another swig and stretches.

"He's right, though." Jones rolls his neck, resulting in a loud crack before saying, "You were all over. You even got the explosive from Dernier and put it in place."

She feels warmth creeping over her cheeks. "Was that not okay? You were pinned down by four men," she says to Dernier, who is cleaning his gun.

He shrugs. "I didn't mind the help," he says in French. "But I would have gotten the job done."

"I didn't mean to suggest you couldn't. I just saw that you were surrounded and acted."

Dernier smiles at her. "Of course."

Bucky tromps over and sits down next to her. "Morita says he'll have that truck ready to roll in fifteen." He says it to her, but he looks at the group. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

Steve offers him her canteen. "Are any of the men injured?"

"Light injuries, nothing serious. There's a medic who's already patched up the worst of it. But a couple of the men are exhausted and won't make the march, so they're setting up camp beds among the Hydra weapons."

"That sounds safe and comfortable," says Falsworth. He takes a long drag on his cigarette. "I'll go see if I can be of any help." He rises. "Dernier, come give me a hand. You're our munitions expert after all."

He finishes with his weapon and nods before jumping up and following Falsworth.

"What are the chances we'll get back to England tonight?" Dugan asks. He tips his bowler over his eyes. "I wouldn't mind an endless pint of beer."

"You mean your never empty flask of whiskey isn't enough?" says Jones.

Without looking, Dugan pulls a flask from his pocket, unscrew the top, and upends it. Nothing comes out.

"You were drinking during the battle?" Steve says.

"Don't be silly, Captain. Before and after. There wasn't any time during."

She shakes her head and rubs her temples.

"Got a headache?" Bucky mummers.

"I'm fine." She pinches the bridge of her nose and then rubs her thumb over her head.

There's a sudden loud explosion from the direction of the truck and the rest of the men. All four of them are on their feet in a shot, running.

They find Morita sitting next to the truck, surrounded by Falsworth, Dernier, and some of the liberated soldiers. Everyone is laughing, except Morita, who's face is streaked with soot and oil as he rubs his eyes.

"What happened?" Steve demands. Everyone looks relaxed, but she's on alert.

"Nothing." Morita rubs his eyes. "Some idiot tried to start the car while I was under it. It backfired and I jumped and hit a line."

"And why did some idiot try to start the car?" Falsworth asks mildly, smiling.

Morita mumbles something.

"Didn't hear that, Fresno. Can you say it louder?" Dugan practically bellows.

"Because I told them to." Morita gets up and throws his wrench to the ground. "Want to make something of it?"

"No!" Steve steps between them even as Dugan moves towards Mortia with his arms open like he's welcoming a punch. "Both of you cut it out. How far back will this push our ability to leave?"

"Maybe ten, fifteen minutes. I need oil from one of the other trucks. All of them are too messed up to go anywhere, but the oil should be salvageable. I can fix the line quickly."

"Then do it. I want to get out of here as soon as we can."

Morita nods and shoots a look at Dugan. "Oil?"

"I'm one it."

"See if any of the lines are salvageable, too. Just in case."

"Got it," Jones says. He takes off, following Dugan.

Bucky elbows Steve. "Walk with me." He turns and stalks off through the trees.

"Shout if anyone needs anything," he tells Falsworth and the rest. Then he heads off after Bucky.

Bucky is about twenty yards away from the rest of the men, leaning against a tree. His face is stone, eyes flat and hard.

"What?" Steve says.

"Don't you got that fancy food Stark gave you before we left?"

She flushes. "Bucky, I don't have time…"

"You're shaking like a leaf. You told me your metabolism works a million times faster now because of what you are. You need to fuel it. They gave you that fuel. So use it."

"It's not fair…"

"Don't," Bucky cuts her off. "Don't say it. Don't even think it. If you really think it's not fair, go out there and ask those men you just saved if they mind if you eat something so you don't pass out."

"I'm not going to pass out."

Bucky blinks and looks away. "I almost think that's worse."

Gritting her teeth, Steve unbuttons one of pouches on her belt and pulls out two ration bars. Stark had told her they were like ration-D bar, only double the calories.

"Want one?" She holds one out for Bucky.

He takes it and unwraps it, but doesn't raise it to his mouth until Steve takes a bite from hers.

They both grimace at the taste.

"You'd think Stark would have genuised a way to make these things taste better," Bucky said, swallowing

"He doesn't have to eat them." She eats another mouthful and quickly chases it down with some water. If anything, it makes the ration bar taste even worse. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

She finishes off the bar, starting when Bucky throws what's left of his at her. "You're snapping and growling at me. And you won't look at me. What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, I do." She crosses to him, not quite pushing into his face, but getting close enough. "We just had our first successful mission. We rescued a hundred men. We brought down a Hydra facility. Bucky, you should be walking on air. What…."

"I almost shot you!"

She falls back a step, mouth falling open. "What…"

The look Bucky gives her is half anguish, half rage. He's furious, but his eyes are bright. He throws his hands up in the air. "You weren't in position, Steve! You kept running around and I couldn't keep track of you. I tried and I tried to watch the others, but there you were, always in the way, always where you'd told the others to be. And then I saw the soldiers around Dernier and I took aim. I was just about to squeeze the trigger, when there you were! Right in my line of sight. I almost…" He breaks off and turns away.

"Bucky…"

He throws a hand up and she falls silent.

"You have a team, Steve."

"I know, but…"

"No! You may know, but you aren't acting like it." Bucky turns back around. "You can't ask six men to follow you into hell and then not let them do their jobs. You can't assign a duty to someone and then do it for them. It doesn't work like that."

"Bucky, I saw an opening. I…"

"Captain, just listen to me!"

She snaps her mouth shut. Stands, stock still, looking at Bucky through wide eyes.

Bucky scrubs his hands over his face a few times. Take a couple deep breaths. When he drops his hands, he looks calmer. More in control. "We're not alone anymore. You're not alone. It's not you against the world. You're a leader now. Yeah, you gotta protect your men, but you need to trust them, too. Okay, you saw an opening, but… I had Dernier's back. You put me in the sniper position because I'm good at that. I could see everything. He would have been fine, I would have taken care of him and he would have gotten the explosives in place and everything would have worked out. And it did, and I'm happy, but… You're stronger and faster, but look at you. You're still shaking! You're not invincible. You're not bullet proof. You're not six men." He shrugs. "Either let us have your back, or just do it all on your own."

There's a raw, torn feeling in her chest. Her ears ring. She looks away. "I didn't mean.." She can't finish.

"I know." Bucky comes closer. "I know you didn't. And I know you trust us. But you're so stubborn. You've always needed to show everyone that you're strong enough to make it all on your own. You've done that, Steve. So… let us help now."

She looks at him, for a second, it all feels wrong, because she's looking down on him instead of up. "Do you think… They're still going to want to do this, right? I mean…."

He smiles and punches her in the arm. "Stevie, they're crazy. As long as you let them risk their own asses in the future, they'll be happy to tag along."

"And you?"

Buck puts his hand on her shoulder and leans in. "I told you. I'll follow that kid from Brooklyn anywhere. Just as long…" He stops, staring up, eyes twinkling.

"As long as what?"

"As long as he remembers to eat." He grabs the uneaten ration bar from her hand and shoves it into her mouth. Then he pats her on the chest. "Now come on. Let's see about blowing this joint."

Steve rolls her eyes and follows Bucky back to the others.


	19. Chapter 19

It's nearly midnight when the sound of heels clacking sharply against the floor startles Steve from the daze she's fallen into. She blinks and looks down at the battle plans she's been going over, surprised to find the margins filled with sketches of Peggy and Bucky. Clearly, she'll have to rewrite them before she can show them to anyone else. She groans at the thought.

"Still here? Everyone else left hours ago." Peggy slides into seat across from Steve.

Steve flips the plans over and sits back, rubbing her eyes. "Yeah, I… I just wanted to get some things straight in my head."

"We ended the meeting four hours ago. You know, there is such a thing as over preparation."

"Well, I spent some time with Howard and guys first. He was showing us some weapons he made. Modifications to our uniforms. I haven't been here the whole time."

"Toys and clothes. That must have been a fun shopping trip." She smiles, eyebrow arched.

Her smile brings one to Steve's face, an automatic response. She can feel herself blushing, but something relaxes in her at the smile. For the moment, she's content to be here with Peggy.

Which, of course, is why she immediately has to stick her foot into her mouth. "It certainly was more relaxing than the last time I played around in Howard's lab."

Peggy sits back a little, face falling. "Steve," she hesitates, then reaches out and puts a hand on hers. "Howard showed me that shield days before you… He and I played with it, even. He wanted to show me how the metal absorbed the vibrations from the bullets so they fell dead instead of deflecting. I must have emptied four clips into that thing."

Steve looks away, hunching her shoulders. She doesn't want to think about what happened, about the thrill that had zinged through her when Peggy had picked up the gun and fired. How she flinched at the sound of each bullet hitting the shield, and then… the excitement that had rushed through her when she realized that she was safe. That the shield that had called to her, that had fit perfectly in her hand, had done better than she could expect.

Between finding a part of herself in that hunk of metal, and the almost serene confidence on Peggy's face—minus the furious blaze in her eyes—the whole experience had been almost… exhilarating.

"I figured you knew," she says. "I mean, Howard said that he'd tested it." She looks back at Peggy. "I'm not angry."

Peggy still looks concerned. "You should be." Her eyes search Steve's face, looking for something. "I acted dreadfully unprofessional."

"No, it's…."

"And whatever is going on between you and Private Lorraine is…"

"There's nothing going on!" Steve says loudly. Probably too loudly, but her blood is rushing through her ears and it's hard to hear. She ducks her head, cheeks burning. "I told you before, I don't really know how to talk to women."

"You seemed like you were doing fine," Peggy answers, her voice almost too even.

She gives a laugh that's practically a bark. "If I had been doing fine, I would have figured out how to get myself out of that situation before it happened. I sort of saw what was going to happen, but too late. And there was no way to retreat."

There's a beat of silence, then Peggy says, "And the hopes of the free world are pinned on you as our master strategist."

Steve laughs again, still a little wildly, but not as harshly as before. She looks back at Peggy, face on fire. "That's why I'm studying." She runs her hands over her papers.

Peggy slides them out from underneath Steve's hands. "These are very good," she says, tracing one of the sketches of Bucky. "You really are very talented."

She can't stop the smile at the compliment. "Thanks."

"But," she adds, fingers brushing over one of the sketches of herself, "they also speak to your inability to focus on the task at hand."

"I'm fine."

"You're tired." She looks back up at Steve. "If not physically, then mentally. You need to take a break. You need to get out of here. Where are your friends? Your men?"

"I don't know. They went to the pub, but I didn't…" She takes the papers back and tucks them into a folder. "I want to get this right. I want to make sure that I know everything before going in, you know? That I have it all…" She taps her temple.

"That's impossible. And you know it. That's now how battle works."

"I know. But that's why I need to make sure that, going in, I have a clear picture of what needs to be done. That I know the layout and plan backwards and forwards, like the back of my hand. A successful mission is all about the preparation, right?"

Peggy's looking at her like she's never seen Steve before.

"What?" she asks self-consciously.

"You rescued over two hundred men by jumping in feet first with no idea of the odds you were facing. You took down an entire Hydra base with dumb luck and sheer stubbornness. You're a natural at this. Steve, you're a natural strategist and think easily in the midst of battle. You should be out with your team, that's where your strength will lie. Working with them. Knowing them. Being a team." She reaches out and puts her hand on Steve's arm. "What's wrong?"

She shifts, not pulling her arm away, but uncomfortable under the scrutiny. It's one thing for Bucky to know how badly she'd messed up on the last mission. Bucky knew everything about her. But if Peggy knew… "Nothing."

"Don't lie to me. You weren't like this before the first mission. You were more confident. Where did that confidence go?"

Steve lets out a long, slow breath. Her eyes itch and burn, and even though she's not tired, her brain is starting to feel kind of numb. "I messed up," she whispers.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Last mission. I messed up. I tried to do too much and I almost compromised the mission. Bucky said that I assigned jobs to everyone and then I didn't let them do any of them. And then I almost got shot by Bucky."

"But you didn't."

"I got into his sight right when he was about to take a shot to save Denier."

"But he did his job and stopped himself from shooting. And then he told you your mistake so next time you'll be aware. He didn't tell you so you could sequester yourself from the team and punish yourself."

"I'm not punishing myself."

"Steve, no one expects you to be perfect."

She raises her eyebrow and gives Peggy a wry look.

Peggy has the decency to looking uncomfortable. "Well," she amends. "Expectations of perfection are unreasonable. From any of us. Especially you. Steve, Erskine chose you for a reason. He saw something in you, that leadership potential, that spark, that…magnetism. You draw people to you and they listen to you. Not because of the serum, but because this what you were meant to do. Who you were meant to be."

"I'm just afraid of letting everyone down."

"You won't. And, Steve, no matter how natural you are at this, there still is a lot to learn. And that's okay. That's why we don't send you out alone. You have a team to watch your back and shore you up where you need help."

"That's what Bucky said, too."

"Sounds like Bucky is a wise man."

Steve can't help the snort that escapes. Not because Bucky doesn't have a kind of wisdom, or that he isn't smart. But it was also the man who Steve had seen sleeping passed out on top of a hamburger and bundled under so many scarves and blankets, only his nose was visible. This was the man who chewed with his mouth open and sang—loudly and off key—when he peed.

But she doesn't say all that, she just says, "Yeah. He is." She rubs her eyes. "Looking back, I can see what I did wrong. But, I guess I kept thinking what was the use of all this strength and speed if I couldn't protect everyone?"

"You can't protect everyone. Not everything. If you do that, someone will eventually get hurt and it might be because you were trying to help someone in a position that was actually a waste of your gifts. And it sounds harsh, but… I don't mean saving them would be a waste, just that you have to trust whoever is supposed to be on their six to do their job."

"I know."

"Steve, that instinct to protect other at the expense of your own life is what convinced Phillips to let Dr. Erskine choose you. It's a strength, not a flaw. But now that we have you, Sargent Barnes is right. It is time to let go, just a little, and let your men risk their lives. Because when it comes right to it, you're the only…"

"Super soldier," Steve finishes, looking down at the table. She nods. "I understand. I'm it, and I've got to protect myself for the good of the country. The cause."

"No." Peggy's hand is light on Steve's chin. She tilts Steve's face up to meet her eyes. "You're our only Steve Rogers. And it would be a tragedy to lose you."


	20. Chapter 20

It happens on their fourth mission, although, after, Steve isn't quite sure exactly what happened. They're on the fringes of enemy territory, closing in on another facility. The intelligence gathered suggested there are several ally scientists being held captive Getting them out safely was a priority, along with destroying the factory, so tensions were high.

They're camped out for the night Dugan and Falsworth have first watch. The night is ice cold, mercury almost at freezing. Steve and Bucky are huddled together under both their sleeping bags, trying to keep warm.

Steve doesn't know how long they'd been asleep when something woke her up. She opens her eyes. It's dark, but she can just make out the weave of the tent by the torchlight seeping in through the door. The air is crisp on her face and smells like snow.

Bucky makes a soft noise in her ear.

Steve tenses, ready to roll over and shake him awake. Ever since his rescue, his nightmares, while infrequent could be noisy The last thing they need is Bucky accidentally giving away their position.

He makes another noise and shifts closer to her.

She rolls her eyes and pulls away from where he's trying to wrap his leg around her. A quick glance back at his face shows no distress; he looks, in fact, like he's enjoying whoever he's dreaming about.

Quietly, careful not to wake him, Steve grabs her boots and slips out of the tent Bucky had complained a couple of missions ago that he didn't like going into battle "fully loaded," but there's never enough time for him to jerk one off beforehand (Dugan had suggested that they all take a moment together during their final preparations to take care of themselves. Bucky had turned red-faced and indignant, which only led to a lot of good natured speculation about how small it had to be for Bucky to turn that particular color. Steve had only laughed and refused to comment. She guessed that Bucky had proven himself to the others later, because Morita and Dugan had taken to saluting "the general" whenever Bucky walked back for a week straight.)

Anyway. Hopefully, Bucky would enjoy his dream enough tonight to fully concentrate on the mission tomorrow.

Making her way through camp, Steve waves at Dugan and Falsworth before disappearing into the cover of the bushes. So far, she hasn't had any trouble taking care of her personal business in the field. The guys don't care, or even comment, that she goes off by herself. Plus, her bladder must have super strength now, too, because she can hold forever. Between that and the fake penis Stark had given her (better and more realistic than the fake she'd bought back home… more proportional, too), it almost wasn't an issue at all.

Except three things.

One, she was so used to hiding her genitals and bathroom habits, it's impossible to stop even with the fake penis. Two, Bucky nearly had an aneurysm the time Falsworth had walked up on Steve before she was done (and Falsworth already knew). And, three? Well, Erskine had been right: Steve's menstrual cycle was clockwork regular now. She wishes there was a way to stop it when she's on the field, but there isn't. So, where it used to be an irregular inconvenience, it was now a monthly thing she has to deal with while surrounded by a bunch of people who think she's something she's not.

Stark had set her up with enough boxes of Tampax to last a lifetime. He had made one improvement on the disposal. Once Steve placed the used Tampax into a special envelope and sealed it, it burned, hot and flameless, and kept going until it had been thoroughly destroyed.

Far enough away from camp, Steve crouches in the bushes and does her business. She's just pressing in the new Tampax when there's a rustle behind her.

She whirls, dropping to one knee to steady herself, gun out of its holster and in her hand.

Morita stands a few feet away. He's blurry eyed, half asleep, scratching his chest and yawning. It takes him a moment to see her. When he toes, he give her a half smile, a nod, and a frown. Then he rubs his eyes, shakes his head, and shuffles off.

Her heart pounds. Steve quickly finishes up and buries the pile of ash. Then she stumbles back to camp and into the tent.

Bucky plasters himself to her back the moment she slides back under the sleeping bags. "Where were you? I was cold."

"Nature called." She licks her lips and strives for casual. "So, um. Morita might know."

He mumbles something and presses his head between her shoulder blades, body warm and heavy.

Steve counts his breaths, slowly, hoping he might fall back asleep, but also needing him to wake up and reassure her that everything will be fine.

He stiffens all of the sudden, sitting up so suddenly he knees her in the kidneys. "Morita what?" he hisses. He shakes her, like she's moving too slowly.

"Morita might have seen me out there." She sits up and turns to face him.

"You were using your dick, right? He didn't see anything."

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, Bucky. I woke you up to tell you that Morita saw me using my fake penis and therefore couldn't know anything, but somehow figured it out anyway." She clenches her fists, just to feel her fingernails bite into her palm. "I was… I wasn't taking a leak. At that moment. I was changing my… you know."

It takes him a second. When he realizes what she means, he clenches his jaw so hard, she can see the joint pop. "I thought we agreed that you were going to do that in the tent."

"You were in the tent."

"You're supposed to wake me up. Keeping you safe and alive is more important than me catching some z's."

She lets out an angry breath. "First of all, Morita's a good guy. He's not going to hurt me or kill me."

"You don't know…."

"Second, you were… busy."

"I was sleeping."

"But you were having a real good dream, Bucky."

It's too dark for her to see his skin, but she can tell by the way he ducks his head and looks away from her that he's blushing.

"Steve, you don't got to…"

"It's no big deal. I had to go, you were doing you thing. It worked out. It was bad luck that Morita happened to walk by at that moment. But it was dark and I was down. I was behind a bush. He probably didn't see anything. And if he did…" She looks up at Bucky from under her eyelashes.

"If he did, I'll bash his head in so he forgets what he ever saw."

She snorts and pushes him. "That's not going to help, idiot." She rubs her eyes. "Falsworth has been okay. And, like I said, Morita's a good guy. They're all good guys."

"I'm not saying he's not. But there's a lot of good guys out there who'd take exception to being rescued by a woman. Not to mention taking orders from her."

"I'm not…"

"Shorthand, Steve," Bucky interrupts. He sighs and rubs his eyes. "Okay. How are we going to play this? Should we confront him or just pretend that nothing happened or… I am a sniper."

"Bucky!"

"All right. All right. Last resort." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "So. What do we do?"

She clenches her fists again and then nods. "We have a mission. The mission takes precedent. After we, well. We just play it by ear. See what he does. And go from there."

Bucky it still for a moment before he finally nods. "Okay. If that's what you want," he says, sounding like he thinks Steve just signed her death warrant.

"Try to sound a little less supportive."

"No. No, you're right. Good guy, mission, blah blah. Now, get some sleep. We've got watch in a couple hours."

She nods. "Thanks, Buck." She slides under the sleeping bag and rolls onto her side.

Instead of laying down, Bucky pulls on his boots and goes to the tent flap.

"Where are you going?"

He doesn't look at her. "Out. Someone woke me up by leaving a freezing space next to me. I gotta… You know I hate attacking Hydra all jittery and backed up."

She rolls her eyes and snuggles down again. "Enjoy yourself. Say hi to your right hand for me."

Bucky snorts. "Get some sleep, jerk."

She'd answer him, but she's already half asleep and it's too much trouble.

The next morning at breakfast, Steve sees Morita looking at her a few times with a vague look of confusion on his face. Bucky starts bristling, but Steve elbows him in the side to make him back down.

While they're gearing up, Steve sidles up besides Morita. "Everything okay? You seem… off this morning."

"No, I'm fine, Cap. Just… weird dreams last night."

She tries not to react, keeping her face blank while she says, "What kind of dreams?"

"I don't know. Hydra stuff, where we'd shoot a guy only to have him come back with two heads. People disappearing in flashes of light. Red skulled armies. The usual stuff."

"Yeah, Hydra is really nightmare inducing, huh?" She clears her throat. "Anything else?"

Jim fixes her with a look that's suddenly more penetrating than she's comfortable with. "Not really. Why?"

"Oh, no reason. Just, you know. Checking in before the mission." She smiles. "Carry on." She turns and moves out.

"Smooth, Captain," Falsworth says, falling into step beside her. "Master planner, great strategist, not all that good with subterfuge."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you don't. Just so your head is on the correct way for this mission, Morita told me last night he came across you in the forest and thought he saw something. But he said what he saw couldn't be true. I asked if it'd mattered if it was, and he said he wasn't sure. This morning, he told me it probably didn't."

"Probably didn't. That makes me feel so much better." She picks up her shield and drums her fingers on it.

"Cap, at this point, "probably" is the best you're going to get." He cocks an eyebrow and shrugs.

Steve sighs. Nods. "Thanks."

"Buck up, Captain. We've got a factory to blow up." He smiles, eyes twinkling.

She returns the smile. "Let's do it."


	21. Chapter 21

Zola. Dr. Arnim Zola. The Nazi-Hydra freak who'd chained him to a table and stuck needles full of fire into him. Who'd used Bucky like a lab rat and hadn't even cared who he was. That he was human. Who'd done God knew what, because while the SSR doctors couldn't figure out what was done, they'd all agreed that it'd been something.

In three days, the commandos were going off to capture Zola and bring him in.

Bucky doesn't know how he feels about the whole thing. He doesn't know how he's expected to feel, or if he's supposed to feel anything. Soldiers like him are just bodies can ground. Just part of the machine, and cogs aren't supposed to feel.

Only he's not a cog. He's not even part of the machine. Oh, sure, he wants the Allies to win the war. He wants the Nazi's crushed, along with their sick ideas. He wants Hydra destroyed and the Red Skull sent down where he belongs.

But none of that is why he's fighting.

The weird thing is, though, it's not just for Steve anymore. She's a big part of it, yes, but the rest of the guys…. It's been a long time since Bucky's had a family, a real family. The orphanage didn't count. A few authority figures and a bunch of lost boys didn't a family make, after all.

Steve's team, though, was. Bucky still might not be sure about Falsworth or Mortia (who grows more and more tight lipped any time Bucky tries to suss out what the other man knows. Bucky knows he's going to get punched in the face any day now, but he can't stop poking.) Dugan is the loud, embarrassing, but very cool older brother Bucky's never had. Gabe is laid back, easygoing, and knows more about women and the world than anyone Bucky's ever known. Jacques is a genius when it comes to munitions and knows the right song for any occasion (Bucky will never forget the day they were tracking some Hydra goons in the forest and caught them with their pants around their ankles, watering the grass. Jacques had burst into song as they rounded the goons up. When Bucky had asked what the song was, Jacques declared it to be the traditional pissing song of his village. Bucky still has no idea if that's true, but Gabe and Dugan have taken to singing it whenever they take a piss.)

Bucky guesses that if he is a cog, it's a Commando cog. And the Commandos care about how he feels. He's their sniper, their eyes in the sky. He needs to have his head on straight for this.

But it's also, well, they were there. They saw him get beaten by the Hydra guards, and then they saw him get sick in the cells. They rallied around him where, before, they'd been at each other's throats. They'd cared about his well-being then and they'll care now.

But Bucky doesn't even know how he feels. He wants to do the job. He wants to be there when Zola gets taken, and he wants Zola to get the punishment he deserves.

He's just kind of afraid Zola won't get that punishment. After all, he holds a lot of information. And he's a scientist. The USA and the SSR seem pretty keen on recruiting scientists to their cause.

Bucky might be capturing his tormentor only to deliver him to a better life. That was the opposite of justice and the idea of it makes Bucky see red.

But, his is not to reason why.

He shakes his head, trying to clear the thoughts that have been circulating for hours and lights a cigarette.

Steve's been in a meeting with Colonel Phillips and the other muckety-mucks for almost three hours now. She'll probably be there all night, if past missions are any indication. It's a lot of paperwork and talking, but never all that productive. Steve and the rest of the Commandos always toss out whatever plan the officers make and come up with their own when they get out in the field. Considering their success rate, Bucky doesn't know what they bother, but he guess they want to feel useful. Suckers.

"Sergeant Barnes? What are you doing out here?"

Bucky jumps to his feet and salutes Agent Carter, who has just left the building Bucky is skulking outside of.

"Nothing, ma'am. Thinking."

"At ease," she says, amusement obvious. "If you're waiting for Steve, he'll probably be awhile yet."

"I figured. I mean, he'll probably be in there all night, knowing him. But, well. I thought I'd wait."

"All night in the freezing cold?"

"It's not so bad."

She rolls her eyes. "You're as bad as he is aren't you? I understand loyalty, but sitting out here freezing your arse is just plain stupidity."

Bucky gives her a lopsided smile. "You calling Steve stupid?"

"I'm calling him loyal to a fault." She sighs. "Although, I may have goaded him a bit."

"Yeah?" he prompts, raising an eyebrow.

Agent Carter averts her eyes and shrugs one shoulder. "I was angry. No, furious, at what Senator Brant had done to Steve. Taken all his passion and righteousness and turned him into a performing monkey. Steve's words…well, drawing, not mine. And Colonel Phillips, too. Just threw Steve away because Steve wasn't the one he wanted. Because Phillips couldn't understand the difference between a loudmouth boy with muscles and a…. a skinny stick who happened to be a hero. Don't tell Steve I said that."

"What?" Bucky asks, bewildered. "That you think he's a hero?"

If she were anyone else, Agent Carter would be squirming. Instead, she squares her shoulders and says stiffly, "Well. It doesn't do to over-praise. I'm sure Steve hears it enough."

Bucky drops his cigarette and grinds it with the heel of his boot. Hard. "People are saying it enough. Don't know if Steve's hearing it. He's got bigger things on his mind." He grinds down one more time. "I actually figure he could stand hearing it a few times from the right people."

"The right people?"

He looks at her through his eyelashes. "The ones that know he was a hero before he got shot up full of super juice. The ones who know him."

Agent Carter stays still a moment before letting out a long breath. "You might be right." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "I wanted to goad him into some kind of action. I wanted him to get himself off that stage and to do something real. I thought he'd stand up to Phillips or somehow engage in a battle and show everyone what he could do. I never expected him to mount a one-man rescue operation into enemy territory."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I think you're the only one who can understand the… the terror I felt when I realized what I'd provoked him in to." She meets his eyes, jaw clenched.

"You got him the plane."

She tilts her head in concession. "When he didn't contact us… when I was faced with the possibility that he'd died…"

The silence hangs between them, suspended on the frost.

"When we were eighteen," Bucky says haltingly, "Steve and I had a day off, so we went to the beach. It was warm, you know? Sun shining, ocean blue, sand warm under our feet. It was perfect. Anyway, we're in the water when I see this, I don't know, flash of color. I point it out and then, Steve's swimming like mad. Turns out, it was a little girl and she was drowning. Steve gets her, but she's struggling and he keeps going under, pushing her up. Me and some other guys finally get them both out, but Steve… Well, he was so sick after. Chest cold so bad I thought it was going to turn into pneumonia. And all I could think was if I had seen the girl first… if I had reacted just a second sooner…" He shrugs. "The thing is, Agent Carter, Steve needs very little goading. Once he found out it was my unit, he was always going to go."

She smiles softly. "He cares for you very much."

Something in Bucky's stomach twists. He looks away and shakes his head. "Naw. He just doesn't like seeing people get picked on. Day I enlisted, he got beat up over a dog."

She laughs. "While that doesn't surprise me, it doesn't do to diminish your part in his life. You're important to him. He mounted that rescue because of you. In a real way, Captain America, the real Captain America, not the dancing monkey, wouldn't exist without you."

He cheeks warm and he looks away.

Agent Carter steps closer to him and reaches out. She doesn't quite touch him, but it's enough to draw his eyes back to her. "A man who inspires that kind of loyalty must be something. I'm glad he has you for a friend."

"Ah… yeah, well," Bucky mumbles.

Her smile deepens. "Good night, Sergeant Barnes." She turns and walks away.

"Night." He watches her until she turns a corner out of sight, then lets out a huge breath and slumps against the wall. "Holy cow."

"Holy cow, what?"

Bucky jumps a foot in the air, hand going for the weapon at his side. He has it drawn before he realizes Steve's come out of the building.

She laughs. "Did I scare you?"

"No, not at all. Should put a bell on you." He holsters his weapon.

"That'll make our next raid interesting. Trying to sneak up on Hydra ringing like Christmas. What are you doing out here?"

"I was just having an interesting conversation with your girl."

Steve's eyebrows go up. "Peggy? What… I mean… what…."

"What does a classy dame like that and a bum like me have to talk about?" He slings his arm around Steve's neck and starts walking. "One guess. And the first two don't count."

"That doesn't make… You were talking about me?"

"Oh, someone has an ego. Not everything is about you. And, yes, we were."

"Anything good?"

"Do I ever say anything bad about you?"

She snorts. "It's not actually you I'm worried about."

"Don't worry, Steve, I praised you up the wazoo. If the girl wasn't already in love with you, a few minutes talking to me has got her convinced." He grins at the flush that darkens Steve's cheeks. "I think the rest of the guys are at the pub."

"I don't know…"

"No, I insist. We're off to catch a monster in a few days. Right now, let's unwind. Kick back. You know. Bond with the team."

Steve sighs and nods "Okay. All right, let's go."

Bucky pulls his arm off Steve and claps his hands. "Great! First round's on you!"

She laughs. "Sure, Buck. Whatever you say."


	22. Chapter 22

"Cap? Cap. Hey, Cap!"

Steve starts. Looks up.

Morita stands over her. His brow is furrowed, mouth turned down. His eyes dart away when Steve looks up at him, but only for a moment. He meets her eyes and says, "You need to eat something."

His voice is distant, like he's far away. Or her ears are full of cotton. Or she's sick. Back when she still got sick, every time she got a cold, her ears would plug up and make it impossible to hear anything. One year, her mom had laryngitis the same time Steve had a head cold. They'd communicated using Steve's composition book for school, Mom writing her side down and Steve answering out loud. Steve still has the papers tucked away somewhere. After Mom died, she used to pull them out, reread them, trying to follow the conversation. One time she and Bucky…

She shies away from the thought. Looks back out at the endless snow and mountains surrounding them.

Morita snaps his fingers, drawing Steve's attention again. This time, he's holding a ration bar. "Eat."

Slowly, Steve takes the bar. She bites. The bar sticks in her mouth, clumping like glue. She can't taste it, but it chokes her.

"Don't spit it out."

She frowns and swallows. "I wasn't…"

He raised an eyebrow and tilts his head. Then he sits next to her. "Jones said that the extraction team is on its way. Should be here in about an hour."

"Okay." She takes another bite of the ration bar. The lump in her throat seems to have gotten worse. It hurts to swallow, and she coughs a couple times after she forces it down.

"Here."

When Steve doesn't take the canteen right away, Morita shakes it and says sharply, "Drink."

Right. Drink.

As she does, Morita sighs. "Look. I'm not going to ask you if you're okay. I'm not stupid. None of us are okay. Bucky…"

Steve inhales sharply and closes her eyes. The pain in her throat grows sharper. She can't breathe around it.

"Bucky was our brother," Morita says. His voice is thick. "I know I've spent the last few months wanting to punch his stupid face, but that's what brother do. Right?" He lets out a sharp breath, then sniffs. "Anyway. I know you're not okay. But it's going to be okay."

She snorts softly and swallows hard. "Yeah?"

"Of course."

Steve shakes her head. "I don't know what I did wrong."

"What?"

"I don't know what I did wrong," she repeats, louder. Between the lump in her throat and her ears, she might not be speaking out loud for all she knows. "I've been replaying it in my head. Every second, from the moment we set down on the train, and I don't know what I did wrong. We were cautious, and I was listening. And I was watching. And then the door closed and the trooper was there and Bucky and I… There was one of him. Two of us. He wasn't even a super soldier, but I… and I can't… I don't know what I should have done to fix it. I can't fix it."

"You might not have done anything wrong."

She shakes her head.

"Cap… Steve. This is war. It's messy and brutal and sometimes people die."

"Not my team."

"Even us. Even you." Morita shrugs. "Maybe you screwed up. Maybe it was your fault. Or maybe there was nothing you could have done. We've been lucky so far. I mean, until…"

The sound Steve lets out isn't quite human.

"Sorry," Morita mumbles.

She shakes her head and shrugs. "I… Where's Zola?"

"Dum-Dum and Falsworth got him. Up at the front of the train. We thought…" He trails off.

"The rest of them?"

"There isn't anyone else. They all did that cyanide thing." He pulls another ration bar from his pack and passes it to Steve.

Surprised to find the first one gone, Steve unwraps it and eats it. It goes down easier now, although the lump in her throat hasn't gone away or gotten smaller. Her ears feel better now, though, and the pain in her chest isn't quite as sharp.

Morita takes a deep breath and says, "Look, this is the worst possible time, but I want you to know that… that, well, you don't have to worry about anything. About me. What I… saw."

She looks at him, frowning.

"Not today," he clarifies, seeing the question on her face.

Not today…. Oh. Right.

She closes her eyes and looks away.

"I'm sorry I gave Bucky such a hard time about it. I was pissed that he wouldn't leave it alone. I didn't know… I thought it was a dream, mostly. Although Falsworth…. I just wanted to ignore it, but Bucky kept after me and he was such an asshole about it and I…" His voice breaks.

Tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Steve squeezes them shut tighter, holding her breath, counting.

"You're my captain," Morita finally says, voice hoarse and low. "And Bucky was my brother and I'm… I'm sorry."

Steve listens to his footsteps as he stalks away and finally takes a choking, gasping breath, losing the battle against the tears.

* * *

><p>For three days, she's never alone. When she's not in debriefings or meetings, the rest of the commandos are there. Doesn't matter if she's eating or sleeping or just sitting, staring into space, someone is there. The only time she has the tiniest bit of privacy is when she showering or in the can, and even there, they're right outside, waiting.<p>

She won't talk about it. She gives her report, she tells what happened, and that's it. The men, especially Dugan, try to get her to talk about Bucky, but she won't. She can't. So, they talk amongst themselves, reminiscing, and she sits. Stone.

Until finally she can get away. The day of Bucky's memorial, she manages to slip away. After, no one is paying attention to her, so she's able to leave the base and have time to just… think.

Only, she doesn't want to think. She wants to forget. To cut out her brain, cut out her heart and be still. To not see him as he fell, not hear his scream. To not feel this helpless.

London's changed. Like everything, the war has changed it. The bright hope, the fierce optimism that everyone felt the night she'd asked the men to join her in taking down Hydra has been bombed and battered. Everything is bruised or hollowed out.

She finds herself at the pub. The Whip and Fiddle. It seems fitting that it, too, has seen its better days.

Heedless of the fallen roof, the crumbling walls, and the "closed for business" signs, she goes in. There's still plenty of bottles behind the bar. She takes one from the shelf and fumbles in her wallet for money. Not entirely sure where to leave it, she finally tucks it away behind another bottle, before taking a glass and sitting down.

"For Christ's sake, Steve," she can hear Bucky say to her. "Only you would pay for something when no one's watching."

"You suggesting I steal from a bombed out pub? Don't you think they've got enough problems without me stealing from them?"

"You just captured Hydra's number two. I think you're entitled to a little free whiskey."

She blinks rapidly and swallows down the first glass. It burns a little going down, but other than that there's nothing. It used to be that one glass was enough to get her light headed. Two put her to sleep. Now… nothing.

She hears footsteps in the empty pub a moment before the scent of Peggy's perfume hit her. She doesn't turn around, just takes another drink as Peggy comes and sits across from her.

Steve sniffs and takes another drink "Doctor Erskine told me the serum wouldn't just work on my muscles and my reflexes. He said it would work in my cells, create a protective system of healing, of regenerating. Which means I can't get drunk." She finishes the glass. "Did you know?"

Peggy looks impeccable. Every hair in place, lips lined and colored perfectly, posture ramrod straight. She's calm and composed, beautiful, as she nods. "Your metabolism burns three times faster than average. He thought it could be one of the side effects."

Steve smiles wryly before pouring another glass. She salutes Peggy before downing the whole thing in one swallow.

"It wasn't your fault."

"You read the report?"

"Yes."

"Then you know that's not true."

"You did everything you could…"

"I got in over my head. Bucky waded in and pulled me out, just like he always did. And the one time he needed me to return the favor, I couldn't."

"Steve…"

"All I had to do was hold on." Her voice cracks. Hot tears wash over face. She lets go of the glass and covers her face, holding back her sobs.

"Steve…"

"You don't understand," she says. "He protected me. Watched out for me. All these years, he's kept my secret, kept people off my back, kept me alive. And I get him killed. I shouldn't have let him stay. I should have made sure he went home after being tortured by Zola, but I wanted him with me. Because I don't… I don't know how to do this anymore without him there, and I got him killed."

Peggy moves her chair closer to her. Put one hand on her knee and the other on her arm. "Did you believe in your friend. Respect him?"

Steve blinks at her, frowning. Nods.

"Then stop blaming yourself. Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it."

She can't breathe. Her heart is being crushed and she can't breathe. Gasping, she loosens her tie and leans forward. Her head presses against Peggy's knee and she tries to think. Tries to stop the panic and the sorrow.

"Steve." Peggy puts a hand on her head. Strokes through her hair.

"I've never lied to you about my feelings," Steve says.

Her hand freezes. "Steve…"

She sits up. "I'm not a man," she says in a rush. "I was born a girl. But my whole life, ever since my dad died, I've been living as a boy. My mom let me because the doctors thought I should be confined to bed and then because it made me happy and then she was dead. And Bucky found out and he's been protecting me. I know he made his choice, but I never did half as much as he did for me. And then I got him killed."

Peggy stares at her, mouth hanging open. Her brow if furrowed and she looks… confused.

She swipes at her nose. "Please say something."

She blinks. "I… you're a woman?"

"No. Well, technically. But I… I don't know." She grabs the bottle and takes a swig.

Peggy takes the bottle from her and takes a long swallow herself. "All right, so…. You were born a woman. You live as a man, but you're not a man. And Bucky was the only one who knew?"

"Yes. Well. No, he's not the only one who knows. Erskine knew. And Stark. And Falsworth. And Morita." She swallows. "And Zola."

"What?"

She squirms. "And Schmidt."

Peggy's hands fly up to her head. "I… What? Schmidt knows. Johann Schmidt. The Red Skull? He knows you're… technically female? How? Why? Why would you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him. He just knew. Some people can figure it out looking at me. I don't know why. But he saw it when we were fighting at the factory. Said it was fitting that Erskine chose a woman for his second test of the serum and then said that when he won, he'd use me to create a master race."

Annoyance flashes over Peggy's face. "Of course he did. Isn't that always the first thing they threaten?" She runs her fingertips over her forehead. "He hasn't told anyone so far. He must be confident enough in his plans that he doesn't feel the need to undermine everyone's faith in Captain America." She winces. "Or he simply really wants you available if he does win, so he can't risk letting anyone know. Zola might a problem, though."

"You think he'll tell?"

"If he thinks he can get something in return, probably." She bites her lip, drumming her fingers on the table. "I need to talk to Phillips. Maybe I can talk to Zola, too." She stands.

Steve reaches out and grabs her hand. "Peggy?"

Peggy meets her eyes. The steeliness of the soldier melts away, leaving behind a young woman, confusion on her face. "Steve…. Is that even your name?"

She nods. "I was born Stephanie, but everyone always called me Stevie. I've only ever gone by Steve since I was nine."

Peggy exhales shakily. "I have to think. We can't lose Captain America, but…" Her fingers brush Steve's cheek before she pulls away. "I have to think."

Steve nods. They hold each other's gaze a heartbeat longer. Then Peggy turns and walks away.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve sleeps poorly that night. Now, in addition to grief over losing Bucky, she's worried that tomorrow morning Phillips will be waiting to ship her back to the States. On a rail. Tarred and feathered. Which would be a shame, because she's not going home until Schmidt is dead. Or in custody. But definitely defeated.

With any luck, her men won't let her get sent back without finishing this. They know how to pioratize. At the very least, Falsworth and Morita will make sure she's not hauled off before this is over. Peggy and Howard might help, too. So, yeah. Them against the whole of Allied army. And Hydra. Could be worse.

She gets to the briefing room early the next morning. Peggy catches her eye right away and gives a little shake of her head.

The tight knot of tension in her chest eases.

Peggy walks over and hands her a folder. "Zola didn't say anything," she says softly. "Well. He had plenty to say about Schmidt's plans, but nothing about you."

"Good. That's good, right?"

She hitches her eyebrow. "Of course. Unless you wanted him to talk." She glances at Phillips. "My theory is that Phillips has him frightened enough that he just forgot. Let's hope his forgetfulness lasts."

"What if it doesn't? I'm going after Schmidt. I'm going to burn every hole there is for him to hide in. And I'm not going to stop until he and all of Hydra are captured or dead. If Zola talks…"

"Then we'll deal with it." She smiles and gives a little shrug of her shoulder. "You've got this far. I'm sure you've got another miracle in you somewhere."

"None of the miracles have been mine. I've stumbled in the dark and been lucky enough to have help."

"You still have help." Her eyes move to a point behind Steve. "Your men are here." With another small, private smile, she turns and walks away.

Dugan claps a hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezes. "We dropped by the officer's barracks, but they said you'd already come here."

"Well, I'm anxious to get started," she says, turning. "I'm ready to end this."

"Zola give any information of value?" asks Falsworth.

"I haven't gone over anything yet, but Agent Carter seems to think we know where Schmidt is. And his plan."

"Good," says Jones. "I'm ready kick that sonofabitch's ass." His fists clench briefly before he flexes his hands. "The stupidest thing he ever did was stick a bunch of Allies in a cage and leave us to get angry."

"No," Dugan corrects. "The stupidest thing he ever did was stick Bucky in that cage with us. We were at each other's throats, guys. He's the only one who kept his head and remembered that we were on the same side. And stood up for anyone being treated unfairly. Well. More unfairly than anyone else. He's the only reason we got it together." His eyes are bright. "So. We're going to do this thing, right?"

"For Bucky," Dernier says quietly. Firmly.

They nod, and Steve knows hers aren't the only eyes that are burning. "For Bucky," they repeat.

"Now that we got that out of the way," Phillips says loudly, "Sit." He waits until they've all taken their places. "Johann Schmidt belongs in the bughouse. He thinks he's a god and he's going to blow up half the word to prove it. Starting with the U.S.A."

Steve opens her folder, looking at the information Peggy gave her while the rest of the room discusses whether or not Schmidt could actually do what Zola says he's planning. She doesn't care. He can probably do it. Steve's seen his weapons. It's not a far leap from being able to disintegrate a person and blow up a country. Whatever technology Schmidt has, it might as well be magic. All that matters is one question.

"Where is he now?" she asks.

Phillips holds up a spy photo. "Hydra's last base is here, in the Alps." He points to a map. "Five hundred feet below the surface."

"What are we supposed to do?" Morita asks. "It's not like we can just knock on the front door."

Steve looks at the map, turning the matter over in her mind. All their missions so far have involved them sneaking up in some way. They've been covert, up to the moment they start blowing everything up. But for this…

The plan begins to take shape in her mind. The element of surprise by being overtly… overt. Walking up to the door and knocking.

"Why not?" she says, a smile creeping across her face. "That's exactly what we're going to do."

* * *

><p>The look on Schmidt's face when Steve told him that she wasn't special, that she was just a kid from Brooklyn.<p>

No. The look on his face when her men crashed through the windows.

The word the cube had opened up, vast and beautiful, before it took Schmidt.

Punching him in the face.

No. No, she doesn't want her last thoughts to be of him.

Peggy. Yes, that's what she wants to remember. Peggy.

Sluggish, cold, barely able to move, she strains in her seat. The water's up to her waist, and the console is pinning her in. Something's broken in her back, and it's not repairing, doesn't have time, but if she stretches, if she can just lean a little to the left, she can get her compass.

A tearing pain rushes up her spine, exploding in her skull. With a gasp, she lets her hand fall and slumps against the seat.

Well. Maybe not.

She thought she'd be dead by now.

"A week Saturday. The Stork Club," she whispers to herself. "Eight o'clock."

Peggy had kissed her. She knew about Steve, and she kissed her still. Soft and tender and passionate and everything Steve had ever wanted. Her lips soft against Steve's, tongue brushing against her lips. Her strong hand gripping Steve's neck, fingers long and hot against Steve's skin.

The pain begins to fade as the numbness sets in. She can't fee her feet. She can't feel her fingers.

Bucky. He'd kissed her, too. Lips chapped, mouth half open. It'd been sloppy and unexpected, and it makes Steve's stomach twist thinking about it. (The numbness is up to her hips. She feels like half a person).

They never talked about it. She doesn't know if he remembered doing it, if he'd meant to. She never wanted to ask because that would mean admitting that she'd wanted him to. That all those years he was taking care of her, rubbing liniment into her bruises and holding her against him while she struggled to breathe, maybe she enjoyed it more than she should have. Maybe sometimes she took advantage of his willingness to be close to her.

Could you love two people? Is she going to hell because she does?

"Guess I'll find out soon," she whispers, water creeping up to her chest.

_Please, let me die before I drown,_ she begs silently. She's spent too much of her life not able to breathe. She didn't want die like that. Let her pass out, go to sleep, freeze, anything before that

She pushes it away.

Peggy.

The look in her eyes when Steve took the flag off the pole. Her little smile when Steve had climbed into the jeep.

Like she saw all the way through Steve, right into her heart.

"You were right, Bucky," she whispers.

_"__See? I told you. She wouldn't care what was underneath your clothes. She just cared what was underneath."_

"Sap." She's sleepy now. Warm. The pain in her lower body has faded away and she can't feel the cold anymore. Warm waves wash over her, urging her to sleep. To relax. To give in.

She closes her eyes. "I still don't know how to dance," she whispers, not able to feel her lips.

_"__I'll teach you"_

* * *

><p>Warm.<p>

Steve opens her eyes.

Light. A breeze. A radio playing softly in the background.

"There's a pitch. It's a ball, high outside. So, the Dodges tied four to four."

This is wrong. She doesn't know why, but it's wrong.

"At the count, no doubt, one swing of his bat."

She was supposed to be doing something. Had been doing something. Talking with Peggy? Had they been listening to a ball game?

That didn't seem right.

Something about dancing?

"This fella is capable of making it a brand new game again. Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets field."

Ebbets Field. It's been years since she's been there. If Bucky's listening to the game….

Bucky….

He hates it when games get this close. Can't stand the suspense. Once during a tie, he'd bruised her arm holding it so tightly. Eyes wide, jaw tight, he'd been jeering the Dodgers, calling them bums the second they'd let the score tie.

Then Reiser got an inside the park home run. Bucky had been so ecstatic, he'd grabbed Steve and started shaking her so hard her brain knocked against her skull.

It'd been a rough game.

Something happened to Bucky.

She looks around the room, a sudden vertigo overtaking her. This room isn't right. She should be in a hospital. Right? Or the ship. Hadn't her back been broken?

The ship had crashed. She'd crashed it.

Peggy…

On the radio, Reiser hits a line drive. Inside the park home run.

But…

The door opens and a woman steps in. She's in uniform, but it's wrong. Her hair's too long and it's loose around her shoulders. Her smile is forced. Her eyes are wary.

"Good morning. Or," she corrects, checking her watch, "should I say, afternoon?"

"Where am I?" Steve asks as the radio announces the Dodgers have taken the lead, eight to four.

She can feel Bucky grabbing her and shaking her, screaming so loud she almost goes deaf. Her head snapping back, laughing and trying to push Bucky off. The matching roar of the crowd as their team pulls ahead.

"You're in a recovery room in New York city."

"Fine game indeed!" the radio trumpets.

Bucky screaming, shaking her with joy, peanuts flying everywhere.

Bucky, screaming as he falls into the abyss below the train.

It all come back. Zola. Schmidt. The bombs on the ship, heading to New York. Peggy. Crashing.

"Where am I really?"

Her face shifts. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Had they lost the war? Was she a prisoner? Schmidt had been killed, she'd seen him disappear. What if…

"The game," she says. "It's from May 1941. I know because I was there."

There. The face of someone caught in a lie. Of someone who was going to keep on lying despite having been caught.

She rises. "Now, I'm going to ask you again. Where am I?"

"Captain Rogers…"

"Who are you?"

The door opens and two men—Hydra?—step in. They advance.

Good to know a broken back and a little drowning isn't enough to take away her strength. She throws them through the wall and follows. She's in a warehouse of some kind, only when she burst through the door, she's in an… an office? There are people in suits, but they look strange. The cut and the style. It's all different. And the building smells wrong. The air is too cool and the colors strange. There are hundreds of windows and chrome and it looks more alien than Schmidt and his technology.

She runs. Down the hall, down the stairs, out the front door and…

Into a world of buildings. She runs into the street, head spinning. Everything is tall and bright and lights and…and

Where is she?

"Halt!" someone shouts.

She finds herself slowing without meaning too. Stopping in the street, gawking. It's like seeing herself in the mirror the first time after the procedure. There's something familiar about all this, something underneath, but it's all different. It's not what she knows, and her mind keeps trying to superimpose the correct image over the top but it won't stick.

"At ease, soldier."

Steve turns. A tall black man dressed in black leather walks up. His face is scarred and he's missing one eye. He's not carrying any visible weapons, and his hands are open at his side.

"Sorry about that little show back there. We thought it best to break it to you slowly."

Her heart is in her throat. She doesn't want to know, doesn't want to hear. "Break what?" The only thing worse than knowing is not.

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years." He's got a stern voice, but it's clear he's trying to be gentle. He's not used to being kind. Or maybe he just doesn't have time for it. He's blunt, to the point. Like Phillips.

Who's dead. Seventy years.

Seventy _years_?

The world tilts a little on its axis.

Bucky died a few days ago.

Seventy years ago.

She has a date next week with Peggy.

Seventy years ago.

She died a few minutes ago.

She can't breathe.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she says automatically. Because what's she going to say? She's not okay, in any sense of the word. She can barely grasp that everything, her whole _world_ is gone. "It's just, I had a date."

She feels a hand on her shoulder. The man's stepped closer. Despite the brusqueness of his voice, on his face is reflected sympathy. Kindness.

"I'm sorry, Cap."

She laughs. It sounds humorless. Flat. "Yeah."

"If it's any consolation, she's still alive."

"What?"

"Peggy Carter. She's still alive. She's old, but still hanging in there."

This is what brings tears to her eyes. She blinks them back, tries to keep calm as she says "Can I see her?"

The man nods, but turns it into a shake of his head. "Not right away. But you will. But first, we need to talk."

Her mind is a whirlwind. She can't concentrate on anything. Peggy's alive. Bucky's dead. Peggy is old. Steve's… Steve's the same. She died, but now she's alive. She crashed the ship, but she's here.

"How?" she asks. "How am I still alive?"

"We're not sure," the man says. "We think it's something like suspended animation. Erskine's formula combined with the extreme cold... Whatever it was, it kept you alive. And exactly like you were when you went down." He shifts, body moving away, eyebrow going up. "At least, we assume you're exactly like you were. Gotta say, my doctors got a hell of a shock once they got you out of uniform." He runs his eyes over her body.

Steve stares at him stupidly for a long moment, not comprehending. She looks down at herself, noting that her uniform is gone, that she's in an outfit similar to what she wore when she got the serum. Only it fits, even if the shirt is a little snug across her chest.

Her chest. Which is bound, but it feels different than what she's used to.

Out of uniform.

"Oh, God," she breathes. She tenses, ready to run, ready to disappear in the crowds, to escape, to get somewhere.

The man puts his hand on her arm again this time restraining. "Relax. I don't know what happened, I don't understand what happened, but I'm very curious to find out. But don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to you."

"But I…"

"World's changed, Cap. It's not perfect, but we're the good guys. You'll be fine with us." He tugs gently. "Let's go. This isn't the place."

"Who are you?" she asks, allowing herself to be led to the vehicles.

"My name's Nick Fury." He smiles a crooked, roughish smile. "Welcome to the future."

The End

* * *

><p><em>OMG, I can't believe I'm done! Three years working on this, and I'm finally at the end. Thank you so much for everyone who read this fic. Thank you for every kudos and review; I can't tell you how much I've appreciated them. I hope to start the sequel soon and hope you come alone for that ride as well.<em>


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